The Infamy of Mirrors
by Witticaster Cole
Summary: "Little by little they will differ from us; little by little they will not imitate us. They will break through the barriers of glass or metal and this time will not be defeated." Two worlds go to war. (AU, Derek/Stiles, sequel to Lazarus Taxon.)
1. The Cracked Gate

**Notes: **Oh god, here we go again. Beta by Poicephalus, who regularly has to crack my head open and rearrange things so that I sound like a coherent human being.

* * *

_**The Infamy of Mirrors**_

**Chapter One: "The Cracked Gate"**

Every morning, Da-Xia descends the stairs to the foot of the mountain and collects the basket of food the villagers left for her during the night.

The offering itself isn't much: rice, fresh fruit, sometimes a little fish. The Old Man once told her that the rice used to be left in wooden bowls, but the rice Da-Xia gets comes sealed in plastic bags. She doesn't know what to do with the bags once they're empty, so she hangs them up in the trees around the house. She likes the colors.

There's another gift this morning, alongside the food: a tiger lily, made of silk. Da-Xia places it on top of the basket and begins the climb back up the mountain.

She's taken care of the house as best she can, but it's too big for just one person to maintain. The East wing finally collapsed last year. Da-Xia tried to keep the plants from overgrowing the rubble until she found a family of red pandas nesting in it and decided the forest would make better use of the land than she ever would.

After she's put away the food, Da-Xia fills a bucket of water and heads further up the mountain to tend to the statue.

The statue is enormous, and even older than the house; it perches on the mountain's peak, face tilted up to the sky. The Old Man once said it was a sculpture of a lion. Da-Xia's never seen a lion, so she took him at his word. She doesn't know that lions don't have horns, or hands, or feathers.

A bird has nested in the space between the statue's horns, so Da-Xia climbs up the statue's back and gently removes the nest. There's a tree nearby; Da-Xia slides down the statue's foreleg, hoists herself up into the tree, and settles the nest securely between two branches.

Then she cleans whatever parts of the statue aren't covered in moss, scrubbing away dust and mud and bird leavings. When she's done, she climbs up onto the statue's head and pulls away the moss covering its eyes.

The Old Man used to do this, and Da-Xia doesn't know why. But he's gone now, which means the responsibility falls to her.

Da-Xia allows herself a moment to watch the sun rise, painting the mountains and forests in shades of green and gold.

Then something goes _crack_.

Da-Xia startles and falls, tumbling into the dirt.

The statue is breaking apart.

Fracture lines spider across the stone. The cracks widen; chunks of rock start to break free and crash to the ground, revealing swathes of tawny fur.

The stone comes off the statue like the shell coming off an egg, and that leonine face turns away from the sky to regard Da-Xia with green eyes and haughty suspicion.

**o**

**Two Months Later**

Everyone is in Stiles' office, because he has a window and it's 4:47 on a Friday and the directors left for the airport like an hour ago and there are pigeons.

Heather, perched on the end of Stiles' desk, says, "That... is the fattest pigeon."

"How did that it even get up here?" Stiles says, chair rotating idly from side to side.

"It's a pigeon," Lydia replies from her desk across the room, where she's bouncing Stiles' rubber band ball off the walls. "It flew."

"There is no way that fat fucking pigeon can fly."

Greenberg says, "Maybe they're, like, robot spy pigeons." He thinks it over for a second. "_Reporter pigeons_."

"Dude, there are pigeons with war medals," Stiles says. "I can believe it."

Heather glances over at Stiles' computer. "Somebody's pinging you," she says.

"It's Dave," Stiles sighs. "He's bored and keeps sending me facts about ants."

"It's from reception, actually."

"What? Shit." Stiles spins his chair around. He tabs out of the chat window full of messages like 'ANT FACT 36: EACH COLONY OF ANTS HAS ITS OWN UNIQUE SMELL' and opens up the second one from reception:

_Derek Hale is here to see you._

**o**

Here's how it works:

Stiles takes as many cases in California as he can. Every once in a while, he'll call Derek.

"Hey, I'll be in San Diego for the next week or so, if you wanna drive down."

Or: "I'm wrapping up a case in Fresno and was thinking I'd swing by Beacon Hills for the weekend."

In between, they talk on the phone, and Stiles sends Derek rambling e-mails at 3 AM, and it works.

But Stiles has been stuck doing desk work in Virginia for the last month, which is why Derek let Erica talk him into driving across the country for a surprise visit.

FDSI headquarters is a nondescript office building just off the main strip in Glassburg, Virginia, with quite possibly the most claustrophobic and least inviting reception area to ever exist. The receptionist is a small, birdlike woman, and very annoyed that Derek is keeping her from punching out early.

She says, "He'll be right down," and goes back to... whatever it is she's doing on her computer. Derek can't see from this angle. He isn't sure what he's supposed to do now; there aren't any chairs, but the receptionist probably doesn't want him to keep leaning on her desk.

The elevator doors open, and Stiles rushes toward the reception desk, buzzing with barely-restrained panic. He's been growing his hair out, and right now it's sticking up at all angles like he's been nervously running his hands through it.

"Derek! Are you okay? Did something happen?"

In retrospect, this may have been a mistake.

"I'm fine," Derek says. "Everything's fine."

Stiles screeches to a halt right in front of him. "What are you doing here?"

Derek's eyebrows come down. "I'm... here to see you?"

"Oh, god." Stiles lets out a strained laugh and rubs a hand over his face. "Oh my god, I'm turning into a paranoid. Of course you are."

"This was a bad idea, I should've called."

"No, no, if I were a normal person this wouldn't have been a problem."

The receptionist is laughing at them and not even trying to hide it.

"Stop judging me," Stiles snaps at her.

With a sugary-sweet smile, the receptionist says, "Will your guest be needing a visitor's pass, Agent Stilinski?"

"No, it's fine." To Derek, Stiles says, "We could go get dinner, I guess? Then head back to mine?"

The elevator doors open again, and a group of agents pile out. Someone Derek doesn't recognize shouts, "Stiles! Beer 'o' clock!"

Stiles half-turns and yells back, "Rain check on the pub, guys."

Lydia strides over, raises an eyebrow at Derek, then turns to Stiles and says, "Or he could come with."

Stiles says, "Absolutely not," at the same time Derek says, "Sure."

The receptionist starts laughing again.

"What? Really?" Stiles says.

Derek shrugs.

"... Okay, but we need to leave before the house band starts playing."

**o**

The pub is called The Lion's Head, and Derek thinks there may be exactly one person in here—besides himself and the bartender—who isn't a federal agent.

Stiles has taken his tie off and unbuttoned his shirt a bit. Derek keeps catching glimpses of his collarbone and the hollow of his throat, and it's _distracting_. However, so is Lydia's choice of small talk.

"A lot of scavengers will go right for the ass," Lydia says, waving a carrot stick around like she can somehow use it to illustrate her point. "The haunches have plenty of meat on them, and the anus provides easy access to internal organs."

Stiles looks utterly horrified, but not on his own behalf. He gives Derek a sidelong glance and says, "This isn't freaking you out, is it?"

"I'm a werewolf whose father was a taxidermist." To Lydia, he says, "I remember my dad used to say 'nothing is truly a herbivore.'"

Lydia nods. "Tansey's Law."

"What?"

"Nothing, inside joke."

Stiles says, "Your dad also said 'a snake can't be poisoned by its own venom.'"

"The snake venom thing is extremely wrong, but the herbivore thing is true," Lydia says. "There are very few animals that will pass up free protein. I found a paper once that was all about scavenging of human corpses by songbirds."

Stiles gapes. "_Songbirds_?"

"They crawl under clothing to get at the genitals, apparently."

Another agent comes over and claps a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Stiles!"

The smile on Stiles' face is more of a grimace. "Greenberg. What do you want?"

"Did you ever hear back about the Artemis rotation?"

"Still waiting," Stiles says through his teeth. Derek hears his heartbeat ratchet up over the words. "Hey, I think Heather is calling you."

Greenberg wanders off. Derek watches him go, then looks back at Stiles. "What was that about?"

"I, uh... I applied for one of the permanent postings at Beacon Hills. It might get rejected. I didn't want to get your hopes up." He stands a little too suddenly, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. "I'm gonna get another drink. You guys want anything?"

"Still working on this," Lydia says, holding up her martini. Derek shakes his head.

Once Stiles is out of earshot, Lydia says, "It was approved."

"What?"

"Stiles' application. It was approved. He knows it was approved. He just hasn't decided whether he's going to go through with it or not."

Derek watches her as she takes a casual sip from her martini. "Why?"

"Knowing Stiles, he's thinking about everything that could go wrong."

Stiles collapses back into his chair, empty-handed, and says, "What time is it?" with alarmed desperation.

Lydia checks her phone. "Five to seven."

"Oh, shit. We need to leave."

"What's wrong?" Derek says.

"The house band comes on at seven."

Derek would laugh if it weren't for the borderline tortured look on Stiles' face. "Are they really that bad?"

Lydia says, "Their opening number is an electronic version of the _Spongebob Squarepants_ theme song."

"We need to leave," Derek says.

**o**

Stiles' apartment is in a high-rise with enough security to rival a Swiss bank. There may actually be Nazi gold stored here. The suite itself isn't particularly remarkable: everything is beige, and clean in a way that suggests Stiles hasn't spent a lot of time here.

"Did you just move in?" Derek says, shrugging off his jacket.

Stiles walks to the kitchenette, turning lights on as he goes. "Uh... that depends on your definition of 'just moved in.'"

"So..."

Stiles looks like he's counting in his head. "... Eight months ago."

Derek looks around at the piles of partially unpacked boxes and raises an eyebrow.

"I've been busy!" Stiles protests.

"At least you got the aquarium set up."

"Yeah, and then the fish-sitter killed all my fish. It's a snail habitat now." Stiles starts opening and closing cupboards. "I'm supposed to have some coffee in here somewhere..."

He trails off when Derek steps up behind him, puts his hands around Stiles' hips, and licks up the side of his neck.

"I missed you," Derek murmurs, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses against Stiles' skin.

"Missed you, too," Stiles gasps. "God, all the desk jockeys went on vacation and we've been covering for them and I have been _losing it_, Derek, you have no idea," and then he turns to face Derek and pulls him in so he can roughly press their lips together.

Derek growls into Stiles' mouth—actually _growls_, Jesus, he hasn't done that since he first came back to Beacon Hills—and pushes in closer, pressing Stiles against the counter, hands braced on either side. One of Stiles' hands winds into Derek's hair, and Derek is content to let Stiles move him where he wants him. He can feel the weeks' worth of pent-up tension in Stiles' body.

When Stiles pulls away, gasping for breath, Derek drops to his knees.

"Oh, god," Stiles says, still a little breathless. "You'll wreck your joints, doing that."

Derek doesn't look up from where he's unbuckled Stiles' belt and is working on his fly. "Your bedroom talk still sucks."

"We're not in the bedroom, we're in the kitchen."

Instead of answering, Derek sucks Stiles' cock into his mouth as deep as it will go.

"_Oh my god._ Okay, yeah, semantics, point taken."

It took Derek a while to get the hang of this, but Stiles was more than happy to be practiced on. His hand is still in Derek's hair, while the other has a white-knuckle grip on the counter, and Derek suspects the neighbors will be filing a noise complaint.

Stiles comes quickly, letting out an embarrassed moan.

Derek can't help but feel a little smug as he pulls off and stands, nuzzling into Stiles' shoulder. Stiles is loose and relaxed against him.

Stiles snakes a hand between them, rubbing the heel of his palm over the front of Derek's jeans. Derek rolls his hips into it.

"Bed?" Stiles suggests.

"Bed," Derek agrees, and spends the rest of the night taking Stiles apart.

**o**

Derek wakes up briefly when Stiles' phone alarm goes off at 6:30; Stiles smacks it into submission, rolls back into Derek's side, and they drift off for another few hours.

When Derek wakes up for the second time, the sun is in his eyes and he _really_ can't stay in bed any longer.

He props himself up on an elbow and leans down to kiss the corner of Stiles' mouth. "Morning."

"Morning." Stiles' eyes open, then narrow in suspicion. "You're getting up, aren't you."

"Yeah."

"Does that mean I have to get up?"

"You probably should."

"Ugh." Stiles sits up on his elbows, wobbles, then collapses back onto the bed. "Nope, that's not happening. Ow."

Derek huffs a laugh and sits up, stretching.

Stiles glares at him. "Stop smirking, asshole."

"I'm not smirking."

"You are, that's your 'my sexual prowess has destroyed Stiles, and this pleases my werewolf brain' smirk."

"I didn't destroy you, you're just sore because this is the only exercise you get." Derek pulls on his jeans and heads for the kitchen.

"I exercise!" Stiles yells after him.

"Running away from things that want to eat you doesn't count."

He turns the TV on, but only devotes a little of his attention to the news as he rummages through the kitchen. There's nothing in the fridge except for condiments, milk, and some bacon that may or may not be safe for human consumption.

"Stiles, when's the last time you went grocery shopping?"

"Uh... December."

It's August. Derek shakes his head and closes the fridge. "Let me guess, you've been busy."

"I'm sensing a lot of judgment from the guy who lived in a train depot for like a month."

Derek's wondering if he should take his chances with the bacon when the TV catches his attention.

"—_explosion at a federal research facility in Kenopsia, Colorado this morning—_"

Accompanying the story is shaky footage of the building in question. It's built into the base of a mountain; Derek would guess that most of the facility is underground. Smoke pours out of an enormous hole in the facade.

Stiles, half-dressed and standing in the bedroom doorway, says, "That's Field Station Tian-Hou."

His phone rings.

Stiles disappears back into the bedroom. Derek hears him say, "Lydia? Yeah, just saw it."

Derek tunes out the conversation and focuses on the news again. The anchor doesn't have much information to work from, so she just keeps paraphrasing the same information over and over: the explosion came from the inside. Maybe an accident. Maybe not. Nobody claiming responsibility. Casualties unknown. Authorities and rescue agencies ordered to stay away from the site.

"Derek, where's your phone?"

"In my jacket." Derek drags his attention away from the TV and watches Stiles cross the room to where Derek's jacket is draped across a chair. "What's going on?"

Stiles pulls Derek's phone out of his jacket pocket and says, "Who knows you're here?"

"The pack. Scott, I think."

"That's it? Nobody else?"

"That's it."

"Okay." Stiles drops both their phones into the aquarium. "Get dressed. We need to get out of here."

**o**

In the elevator down to the parking garage, Stiles says, "Pay cash for everything. Don't tell anybody your real name, or where you're really going. Don't buy another phone until you get back to Beacon Hills. Stay away from Field Station Artemis."

"If you would just tell me—"

"_I can't_. I'm sorry."

The elevator doors open. Stiles walks Derek to his car.

"Stiles, whatever's going on, I can—"

Stiles grabs Derek and slams their mouths together, kissing him like he might never get to again. As abruptly has he started, he stops, shoving Derek towards his car.

"Be safe," Stiles says, blinking like he's trying to hold back tears. "I'll contact you when it's over."

"When _what's_ over?"

"I don't know yet. Just... look out for my dad, okay? And Scott. Please."

Derek stares at him for a long time.

Then he gets into his car and starts the engine.

**o**

Hui finds her sister on the hill, overlooking the half-destroyed field station. Sha hasn't let go of the artifact ever since she pulled it from the rubble of the archive; she keeps turning it over in her hand, rubbing the edges with her thumb. It's such a tiny thing, no bigger than a coin: one-third of a disc, carved from jade, edged in gold. Almost an exact match to the piece they already had.

"Sha?"

Sha doesn't take her eyes off the ruin. "We're in the field, Major. It's 'Colonel.'"

"Colonel. The others are looking for you."

"They're ready to leave?"

"Almost." Hui steps up next to Sha, takes in the disapproving set to her jaw. It's been a trial, learning to read these human faces, but Sha has always been an open book to her. "What's wrong?"

"That," Sha snaps, nodding at the plumes of black smoke curling into the sky. "Too big. Too loud. Too many casualties."

"The war will be more of the same."

"I know."

"Sha—Colonel—" Hui takes a breath, collects her thoughts. "We can't afford doubts. The Empire needs us at our best."

Sha sighs, and finally turns away from the ruin, heading back down the hill. Hui follows her. "This is a mission just like any other, Major," Sha says. "Drop the rhetoric."

"Of course, Colonel."

Sha takes one last look at the artifact, then tucks it into her pocket. "I suppose this counts as our declaration of war."

"We declared war almost five thousand years ago," Hui says. "The Empire never officially ended hostilities with this world. It's not our fault they forgot."

* * *

**Next: "Radio Silence"**


	2. Radio Silence

**Notes:** Poicephalus the Beta survived her exams, graduated, and now has a shiny new BSc and a fancy grown-up job. Conga rats, etc.

* * *

**Chapter Two: "Radio Silence"**

"—_full list of casualties is still unavailable, but it has been confirmed that Director Kaitlin Radke was killed in the attack—_"

Without taking his eyes off the road, Derek stabs at the 'next' button on the radio. The station it dials to starts playing what sounds like 'Horse With No Name.' Derek makes a face and hits the 'next' button again.

"—_entire government departments don't just drop off the map like this, Channon._"

"_My understanding is that this incident is being treated as a strike._"

"_Do you see a picket line outside FDSI headquarters? I don't. This isn't a strike. They're gone._"

"_For those of you just tuning in, we're here with former FBI agent and New York Times best-selling author Brent Rowland, discussing the disappearance of the Federal Department of Special Investigations. Nearly every employee of the agency has been reported missing—_"

Derek slaps the 'off' button and keeps driving in silence.

**o**

"_This needs to stop,_" Danny says as soon as he answers the phone. "_You can't just barricade yourself in your room and call me every time your friends come over._"

"They're not my friends," Jackson snaps.

"_Dude, they've spent the whole summer playing video games in your basement. I'm pretty sure that makes them your friends._"

"No, _you're_ my friend, _they_ are just freaks who decided to adopt me."

There's static over the line, which means Danny just gusted out an exasperated sigh. "_Kick them out, then._"

"I've tried! It's—"

"_Complicated, yeah, you keep saying that._"

'Complicated' is about the most concise way Jackson can say, 'I wanted to be a werewolf, so this crazy witch turned me into one and ordered me to kill Derek, who's also a werewolf, only I failed and now I've just kind of become part of his pack by default and everyone hates me but they show it by invading every part of my life and it's awful.'

Jackson's mom knocks on his door. "Jackson, someone's here to see you."

"Be right down," Jackson replies automatically, then pauses. "You're not here, are you?" he says to Danny.

"_No. Listen, I'll talk to you later._"

"Wait, Danny—"

"_Bye, Jackson._"

Jackson swears, shoves his phone in his pocket, and heads downstairs. Boyd, Erica, and Isaac are already here, so who—

Ah. Right. Derek Hale is standing in his front hall. Of course.

"Basement?" Derek says.

"Yeah," Jackson says. "What are you doing here?"

Derek pushes past him and heads for the stairs.

Jackson used to have the rec room in the basement more or less to himself. This is no longer the case. Isaac's old Nintendo 64 is hooked up to the plasma TV, and Erica and Isaac are sitting on the floor in front of it, arguing loudly as they take turns playing _Pokemon Snap_. Boyd sprawls across the couch behind them, reading a book and occasionally shaking his head. Probably because Erica and Isaac named their character 'TITTY.' And they keep reading the dialogue out loud.

They all look up when Derek comes down the stairs.

"You're back early." Isaac pauses the game. "... Why are you back early?"

"You need to stay away from the field station," Derek says. "And keep an eye out for trouble. Something's up."

"... Okay?" Erica looks over at Boyd, who shrugs.

"I lost my phone," Derek says, already on his way back up the stairs. "I'll call you when I get a new one."

"That was weird," Erica says, grabbing the controller and un-pausing the game. Jackson hears the front door open and close.

Boyd says, "Sounds like a Stiles thing." Then he looks at the stairs again and says, "Holy shit, Jackson came out of his burrow."

Jackson turns around, stalks back up to his room, and utters seven words he's never put in this order before: "I can't wait for school to start."

**o**

Derek has to climb a tree to get a good look at Field Station Artemis from this far off.

Before Derek left for Virginia, the station was staffed by two fresh recruits who'd mostly kept to themselves. Derek asked around town; nobody's seen them for about a week.

The station's lights are off. No cars in the driveway.

Derek's out of the tree and ten yards down the path to the field station before he stops himself.

Fists clenched, he turns around and starts the walk back to his car.

**o**

It's almost noon, but there isn't anyone behind the desk when Jackson enters the animal clinic. He can hear Scott talking to Dr. Deaton in the back room.

"His dad's really worried, too," Scott says.

"I'm afraid I haven't heard anything," Deaton replies. "I'm sorry, Scott."

"What if he's in trouble? Or hurt? I can't—" and that must be when Scott notices Jackson's here, because he says, "I'll be right back," and walks out into the reception area. "Jackson?"

"McCall," Jackson says. "Have you got a minute?"

"Yeah, I guess," Scott says. "What do you want?"

There's still some lingering hostility here. Although 'lingering hostility' could easily describe Jackson's interactions with almost everyone for the last four months.

There's no casual way of asking, so Jackson just blurts it out: "Why aren't you in Derek's pack?"

"You mean besides the fact that Derek's a butthole?" Scott pauses. "Wait, did Derek send you? Is he still—"

"What? No, I'm just asking."

Scott seems to relax. "I dunno. They're not my pack, and Derek's not my Alpha. That's just how it is." He tilts his head to the side a little as he regards Jackson. "Are you asking 'cause you—"

"Don't read into it too much, McCall. I was just curious."

"'Cause I noticed you and the rest of the pack aren't really—"

"Shut up, McCall!"

"Whatever." Scott sighs. "Can I ask you something, though?"

"I guess."

"Why'd you want the bite so bad?"

Jackson rolls his eyes. "I told you. I had to find _some_ way to keep up with you on the field."

"That's it? You wanted to be a werewolf so you'd be better at lacrosse?"

"No, dumbass, it's—" Jackson grinds his teeth for a second, then says, "I just wanted to be better."

Scott's got this unreadable expression on his face. "And are you? Better, I mean."

Jackson doesn't reply. Scott probably knows the answer, anyway: _Not really_.

**o**

The last time Derek was in this bar, months ago, some guy shoved him and started cussing him out for "walking around like you own the place." At the time, Derek had decided it wasn't worth getting stabbed over and left.

Now, though, Derek needs to overload his senses and stop thinking. He can't shake this feeling that's settled over him, like he's insulated from the world, holding his breath, while the world just keeps spinning around him. He'd blame it on the full moon, but that already came and went over a week ago.

Derek can't get drunk, but the music is deafening, and the assault of scents deadens his nose, and playing pool by himself lets him switch his brain off. His entire world narrows to angles and momentum, until somebody says, "Hey man, mind if I join?"

Derek doesn't bother to look up. Sends a ball sailing into the corner pocket. "Actually, I do."

"Whatever, fine. Asshole."

Derek blows an annoyed breath through his nose and circles around the table, figuring out his next shot.

Then, from behind him, the same guy says, "Hey, do I know you?"

"No," Derek says.

"Yeah, I remember," the guy's buddy says. "It was on the news. You're that guy who went crazy and killed his sister."

Derek turns to level a glare at them. One guy actually takes a few steps back.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Derek says. "Leave me alone." He turns back to the pool table and starts lining up another shot.

"So why'd you do it?" the guy says. "Was it for the money, or would the bitch just not shut up—"

Derek drops the pool cue and spins on his heel, striking the guy in the solar plexus just hard enough to knock him flat.

The bar doesn't quite go silent—the music is still going (fucking 'Horse With No Name' again)—but the buzz of human voices drops away. Everyone's looking at him.

Time to leave.

Of course, that's when the guy's buddy hits Derek with a chair.

It degenerates from there.

**o**

Erica's dad brought his laptop to the dinner table again. His fork's been hovering halfway between the plate and his mouth for about ten minutes now. Mom, meanwhile, made herself some kind of salad thing, as opposed to the roast chicken she made for Erica and her dad. She must be on another diet.

Mom keeps eyeing Erica's plate. She resists the urge to drag it closer and growl.

Ever since Derek bit her, Erica's been weirdly proprietary when it comes to food. She's also been eating more. Derek told her it's because her metabolism is more efficient now.

His exact words were, "If you laid off the junk food and tried eating something with actual nutrition in it, you wouldn't be so hungry all the time."

Whatever. Erica likes empty calories and she cannot lie.

Mom says, "I haven't seen you around much, Erica."

"I've been hanging out with the guys a lot," Erica replies.

"Mmm."

A few seconds of silence tick by, then Erica says, "Derek's back in town."

"Derek's the boyfriend?"

"No, _Boyd's _my boyfriend," Erica sighs, like she's said it a hundred times before. (She has.) "Derek's just a friend. You've seen him, I think. Dark hair, stubble, leather jacket?"

"Right."

Sometimes, Erica wants to scream, "You could at least _pretend_ to care that I'm hanging around with a twenty-three-year-old guy who looks like a drug dealer!"

Erica's phone rings. She digs it out of her pocket and checks the screen; it's Boyd.

"Can I get this?"

"Sure," her mom says, poking at the salad with her fork.

Erica ducks out into the hallway and answers the call. "Hi, Boyd."

"Hey, I know it's kind of a bad time, but can you give me a ride to the police station?"

Oh, thank god. An excuse to leave.

"Sure," Erica says. "Wait, why do you need a ride to the police station?"

"Derek got arrested."

**o**

When Derek weighed the pros and cons of being in a relationship with Stiles, he forgot to consider the following:

_He is the sheriff's son. If you get arrested again, the sheriff will probably single you out for a stern talking-to in his office._

Which is exactly what has happened.

"So," Sheriff Stilinski says, settling back in his chair. "What happened?"

Derek shifts uncomfortably in his own chair. He tried doing the 'glare and keep your mouth shut' routine when they first arrested him, but apparently the local cops are wise to his tricks now because it didn't work.

"Self-defense," Derek says.

"From what I'm hearing, you threw the first punch."

"And I would've left after that, except some idiot hit me with a chair. Self-defense."

The sheriff raises an eyebrow. "And the other eight?"

"Also self-defense. Except for the bartender. Somebody threw a bottle at me and hit her instead."

The sheriff sighs and scrubs a hand across the back of his head, and it's such a Stiles gesture that Derek has to look away. "This isn't like you, Derek."

Derek shifts in the chair again.

"Is this about Stiles?" the sheriff says, and Derek immediately sits up a little straighter.

"Have you—"

"No, I haven't heard from him," the sheriff says. "I'm guessing you haven't, either."

Derek slumps back into his chair.

The sheriff puts his elbows on the desk, leaning forward. "Do you have any idea where he is? Anything at all. I just... I need to know he's safe."

Derek can't meet the sheriff's eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't know anything."

They both jump when someone knocks on the door.

"Jesus," the sheriff mutters. He stands and opens the door. "Yeah?"

The officer on the other side says, "Hale's, uh, friends are here."

"All right." The sheriff steps out into the hall and says, "Come on."

Boyd and Erica are waiting at the front desk.

"Take him home," the sheriff says to them. To Derek, he says, "There probably won't be any charges, but stick around just in case. And stay out of trouble, Derek."

**o**

"'Stay out of trouble, Derek,'" Erica mimics on the way out to her truck.

Derek bristles. "You think this is funny?"

"No, I'm actually kind of freaking out," Erica says. Her voice is trembling. "What the hell, Derek? Since when do you go around getting into bar fights?"

Boyd says, "Since when do you _go to bars?_"

"I'll tell you later." Once they reach the truck, Derek says, "Can you drop me off by the preserve?"

"Sheriff Stilinski said to take you home," Boyd says, crossing his arms.

"And I'm asking you to drop me off by the preserve."

"Say 'please,'" Erica says, climbing into the driver's seat.

Derek sighs. "_Please._"

**o**

Derek runs through the woods, trying to burn off the stress and frustration and the tension between his shoulders that won't go away.

Eventually, his feet hit gravel. When he looks up, Field Station Artemis is looming over him.

No alarms went off when he got this close. No tripwires, or bombs, or armed men jumping out of the shadows.

He could go in.

Derek turns on his heel and walks back down the driveway. He's almost to the treeline when he stops, looks back over his shoulder.

Fuck it.

The door isn't locked. Derek shoulders it open and stops, listening.

No heartbeats. No breathing, aside from his own.

The living room looks normal, except that the coffee table is askew, the rug bunched up underneath its legs. Like somebody knocked into it and didn't bother to put it back.

Derek checks the conference room next, and that's when he picks up the smell of burnt plastic and metal.

It's coming from the office.

The shelves in the office are empty, the whiteboard scrubbed clean. Derek tracks the burnt smell to the computer setup on the far wall, kneeling under the desk and prying the access panel off the nearest machine.

The smell intensifies, washing over him. The inside of the computer is a charred mess. Derek doesn't know much about computers, but he's willing to bet the half-melted lump at the bottom of the case used to be the hard drive.

Outside, footsteps crunch across the gravel of the driveway.

Derek stands slowly, careful not to make too much noise. He creeps out into the hall, trying to keep to the shadows.

He relaxes when he sees Scott standing in the living room.

"You too, huh?" Scott says.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you."

Derek snaps his mouth shut and glares.

Scott says, "Did you find anything?"

Derek shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. "The computers have been torched. All paper records gone."

"So... somebody wanted to make sure there wasn't any useful information here," Scott says.

"Looks like."

Scott nods. "... You're gonna go look for him, aren't you?"

"I've been thinking about it," Derek admits.

"Any idea where you'd start?"

Derek thinks it over. "Kenopsia. The field station that exploded. Might be something there."

"Okay." Scott looks around the room, tapping his fingers against his thighs. "Only one of us should go. If you're leaving, I'll stay here."

Derek's eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"

"Weird things keep happening in this town, dude. _Somebody_ should keep an eye on it." Scott meets Derek's eyes and adds, "_If_ you're going."

**o**

"You know, leaving town so soon after committing several assaults looks kind of bad," Erica says, from Derek's bedroom doorway.

Derek grits his teeth and tries not to let on that Erica just scared three years off his life. Now he gets why Stiles yells at people for sneaking up on him.

"I don't care," Derek says. He finishes tossing clothes into a duffel bag and zips it closed.

"I care," Isaac says. "Also, Social Services _really_ cares. I don't want to live in a foster home."

Erica groans. "God, even _my_ mom is gonna be pissed when I skip town with my bail-jumping Alpha."

Derek shoulders the bag, pushes past Erica and Isaac, and picks his way down the stairs. The spiral staircase in this apartment was a good idea on paper, but it's severely hampering his ability to make a quick exit. "I'm not jumping bail. And you're not coming."

Boyd and Jackson are standing by the door. Crap.

"We know you're going to look for Stiles," Boyd says.

Derek rounds on Isaac. "Scott told you."

Isaac at least has the common decency to look guilty. "Maybe."

"You're not leaving us behind," Erica says, crossing her arms. "We're your pack. We need you."

"_You_ need _us_," Boyd adds.

Derek turns back around and says to Jackson, "You too?"

Jackson shrugs, face carefully neutral.

Derek stares at him for a few seconds, then lets the bag drop to the floor. "Fine. Have you told your families you're going?"

"Not... exactly," Boyd says.

Erica says, "I was gonna call once we were on the road."

"No," Derek says. "Go tell them._ In person_. Then we'll leave."

Erica looks suspicious. "If you sneak off while we're—"

"I won't. Promise."

**o**

"A road trip?" Jackson's dad says.

"Yeah," Jackson says. "Just me and some friends, before school starts up again."

His mom says, "Normally we'd have no problem with this, but it's such short notice..."

"Yeah, I forgot to tell you." Jackson fakes a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

"How long will you be gone?" Dad asks.

"We'll definitely be back before the end of the month." That was clearly the wrong thing to say, because Jackson's parents trade A Look. "I'll have my phone. I promise I'll call if there's any problems."

His parents trade another Look, then Jackson's mom sighs, and says, "All right."

"Cool. I need to go pack," Jackson says, and heads up the stairs.

"We love you," Dad calls after him.

Jackson hesitates at the top of the stairs. Even after all this time, he can't say it.

"I know," he says instead, and disappears into his room.

* * *

**Next: "Watchtower"**


	3. Watchtower

**Notes:** Poicephalus took some time off from being The Rat Whisperer to beta this chapter for me. Also, I just found out the Doc Manager wasn't properly recognizing my scene breaks, so that's fucking lovely. I've gone back to put them in. Sorry about that.

* * *

**Chapter Three: "Watchtower"**

Kenopsia is smaller than Beacon Hills. Less affluent, too. Erica spotted an old lumber mill, shut down ages ago, as she drove into town. Possibly the only thing keeping this town alive is the fact that a lot of government employees live and work here.

Or, they did.

It would be a really bad idea to roll into town asking, "Hi, which way to the government research base where that horrific explosion happened?" Which is why Erica is sitting cross-legged on a motel bed at 1 AM, scrolling through the area on Google Maps while her Alpha breathes down her neck.

The door opens, and the smell of food sweeps into the room. Erica holds her hand out. Boyd puts a foil-wrapped burger in it.

"Any luck?" Boyd says.

"Maybe." Erica zooms in on a gray rectangle. "This might be it."

Derek squints at the screen. "We need more to go on than that."

"Derek, literally all you gave me was 'it's at the bottom of a mountain.'"

Boyd says, "Have you tried using Street View?"

Erica starts to unwrap her burger. "We're in a tiny crap town in Colorado, they won't have Street View."

"So you didn't try, then."

"Fine, if you insist." Erica clicks a few buttons, holding the burger away from the keyboard. "... Holy shit, it worked."

Right in the corner of the camera frame is a sign that reads 'FDSI Field Station Tian-Hou.'

Boyd doesn't say "I told you so," because he doesn't have to. Erica can hear it hanging in the air.

"We'll check it out tomorrow, after it gets dark," Derek says.

**o**

Derek startles awake.

The alarm clock on the nightstand says it's almost five in the morning. Isaac's still asleep in the next bed over, further from the door. Under the steady drum of rain against the window, there are other sounds, coming from outside: twigs snapping, branches groaning and springing back into place.

Something big, _massive_, moving through the woods.

Derek throws the covers off. Before he's even fully processed what he's doing, he's out in the parking lot, slipping a little on the wet asphalt.

He can't smell a thing with the rain coming down this hard. The noise is gone; whatever-it-is isn't moving anymore.

In the weak, anemic morning light, Derek can just see the outline of something in the forest. Watching him.

Behind him, Isaac says, "Derek?"

Isaac has his arms wrapped around himself, the rain plastering his hair down so that it's almost covering his eyes.

"What are you doing out here?" Derek says.

"What are _you_ doing out here?"

Derek turns back, but he can't find the shape in the trees again.

"I thought—" Derek shakes his head. "Never mind. Go back to bed."

**o**

It gets dark early around here, as the sun sets behind the mountains. The gravel road that splits off and winds into the woods toward Field Station Tian-Hou has been blocked off by a couple of flimsy orange 'Road Closed' signs.

Isaac gets out of Derek's car, moves the signs, and moves them back into place once the Camaro and Erica's truck have passed through.

The road is narrow. They have to drive in single file, twisting and turning through the trees, the forest a green wall on either side of them. Erica's truck hits a particularly uneven patch of gravel and Jackson is once again thankful he left the Porsche at home. This must be wrecking the Camaro's suspension.

Eventually the ride smooths out and the trees fall away, and Jackson gets his first good look at Field Station Tian-Hou.

The above-ground part of the station is a towering, one-story glass-and-concrete edifice with a big hole where the front door should be.

Derek parks in front of the wide steps up to the door. Erica pulls in behind him.

Isaac plucks at the yellow barricade tape strung in front of the stairs, plastered with the words 'CAUTION DO NOT ENTER.' "I was expecting more than this."

Derek ducks under the tape and stops, listening. "This doesn't feel right," he says. "Be careful."

The lobby is a mess. Chunks of concrete and glass litter the floor. All the hanging fluorescent lights have been shattered except for one, which dangles pitifully from a single cable and flickers on and off every few seconds. It's fucking with Jackson's night vision.

There's a map on the far wall, next to a sliding metal door etched with the words, 'NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL PAST THIS POINT.' Near it is an enormous hole in the wall.

Boyd approaches the map, looking it over. Derek comes up behind him and says, "What do you think?"

Pointing to a spot near the top of the map, Boyd says, "This is the director's office. Looks like a good place to start."

**o**

Field Station Tian-Hou is laid out in three concentric rings. According to the map, the innermost ring is the archive. The middle ring is marked 'Labs.' The outermost ring is full of offices and rooms with labels like 'Data Processing.'

The director's office is in the outer ring, on the opposite side of the station from the lobby. There's a nameplate next to the door:

_Kaitlin Radke, Ph.D._

_Director of Research_

Additionally, someone scotch-taped a paper sign to the door, which says, 'PLEASE KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING.'

Isaac forces the door open.

It's a big office, but it feels cramped. Books and files and paperwork have been stacked on every available flat surface. Dominating one wall is a huge marine aquarium; the blue-tinged glow it gives off is the only source of light in the room.

Erica sits in the chair behind the desk and opens up the laptop. It doesn't turn on. She hits the power button. Nothing happens.

"Computer's dead," she announces.

"See what you can find in here," Derek says. He heads for the door. "I'm gonna take a look around."

Erica takes in the piles of paper around her, then flops back into the chair and groans.

Isaac, meanwhile, gravitates toward the aquarium. Erica guesses there used to be a lot of small fish in there, but now there's just a handful of very fat fish. Isaac puts a finger up to the glass, watching the fish follow it around, then taps with his fingernail.

A pleasant, generic woman's voice says, "Please don't tap the glass."

Erica lets out a brief scream before clapping a hand over her mouth. In her defense, Jackson and Isaac do the exact same thing.

On the desk, a glass sphere that Erica had previously assumed was a paperweight lights up green.

Jackson recovers first. "What the hell is that?"

"I am Director Radke's personal virtual intelligence assistant," the paperweight says. "You may call me Alif."

Boyd puts down the file he'd been flipping through and leans over the desk, peering at the sphere. "The director had a virtual assistant?"

"I was reverse-engineered from archived specimens after a series of human resources complaints by Director Radke's former assistants, citing a 'hostile work environment.'"

"Make it say, 'Please state the nature of the medical emergency,'" Erica says.

"I'm sorry, I don't recognize that command," Alif replies cheerfully. "Do you require medical assistance?"

Erica sighs, disappointed. "Never mind."

"Can you tell us what happened here?" Boyd says.

"I'm sorry, I don't recognize that command."

"Security cameras?" Isaac suggests.

"Accessing security footage archive." The lights inside the sphere brighten and rotate for a few seconds. "File not found."

Erica says, "Why not?"

"FDSI databases have been wiped, in accordance with emergency protocols."

"Which emergency protocols?" Boyd says.

"In the event that FDSI network security is severely compromised, all data accessible within the compromised network is to be deleted."

Frustrated, Erica kicks out with her foot. The chair squeaks as it rolls a few inches away from the desk. "So what_ can_ you tell us?"

"I'm sorry, I don't recognize that command."

"Oh, for—"

**o**

Derek thinks he may have figured out the three-ring layout.

More precisely, why the hallways between the rings are configured the way they are. There's no straight shot from the lobby to the archive. Anyone who wants to get to the center of the station needs to pass through a gauntlet of choke points and blind corners.

As Derek approaches the archive, his boot hits something that goes skittering across the floor. He looks down. Scattered in front of him are chunks of rock and concrete.

He reaches the door to the archive and finds out why.

Somebody blasted the door open. Well, not so much 'open' as 'off.' The door itself—a big, heavy steel thing that looks like it should be in a bank vault—is actually sitting _inside_ the archive itself, bits of rock still clinging to the edges. It knocked over a few cabinets when it landed.

The archive is _huge_. Derek can't see the ceiling. Towering rows of shelves and cabinets reach up into the dark.

He sniffs, catching a whiff of fresh air, and follows the scent. It leads toward the back of the room.

Every so often Derek catches glimpses of what's stored here: skulls he can't identify, things in jars he doesn't _want_ to identify, carvings, books, scrolls.

At one point he finds a large, dark stain on the floor. Derek inhales; it's blood. Human. Off to the side, almost hidden under a cabinet, lies a brass-topped mahogany cane. Broken.

He keeps moving, eventually hitting another wall. There's a hole in it; Derek can smell a lingering hint of explosive. A slight breeze wafts through, and when he looks, he can see the inside of one of the labs, and another hole on the far side.

If Derek didn't get turned around, and the door is still behind him, then this leads right back out to the front door.

The floor shakes with a slight tremor. A second later, there's another one, more powerful. Then another.

A low growl echoes through the archive. Derek spins around, hackles up.

Something huge looms up out of the dark, towering over him.

**o**

Isaac, Boyd, and Jackson have gone back to sifting through papers. Jackson considers this preferable to what Erica's been doing for the last ten minutes.

"I hate you," Erica hisses at the little glass ball on the director's desk. "I hate you so much, you _glorified appointment calendar_."

"Opening appointment calendar," Alif says serenely. "No appointments scheduled for today. Would you like to schedule a new appointment?"

"_Oh my god_."

Jackson turns his attention back to the notebook he found. From the looks of it, this was some kind of journal. Or maybe a scratchpad. There's doodles and what looks like bits of calculus in the margins.

Alif, meanwhile, has started listing off all recent changes to Director Radke's schedule. "Appointment moved from Saturday, August 4, 2012, 10 AM, to Saturday, August 4, 2012, 4 PM. Description: 'Meet with Jason and Miranda re: department re-prioritization.'"

Jackson flips to the last marked page in the journal.

_M and J's flight delayed. REMINDER: reschedule meeting for afternoon._

_OTHER REMINDER: run down to archive and check on 0047. Increased Bleed radiation output. Requires tests._

_OTHER OTHER REMINDER: find Lasky and kick his ass. He was supposed to take the weekend off._

Jackson jumps at a noise from down the hall: an animal bellow, and a _crash_.

"There appears to be a disturbance within the station," Alif says. "Would you like me to call security?"

Jackson snaps the journal shut, edges toward the door, and peeks outside.

Something black and furry flies past him and hits the floor a dozen feet down the hall. Derek—fully shifted, eyes glowing red, and _pissed off_—snarls and staggers to his feet, charging back the way he came, toward—

It's a collection of features that look like they shouldn't fit together, but do. It's big, almost ten feet tall if Jackson had to guess, dwarfing even Derek. And it hulks, like an ape or a caveman, with powerful arms and hands tipped in claws. Its feet end in cloven hooves. It's got the head and tail of a lion, the horns of a goat, a mane made of feathers.

It roars, lowers its head, and charges. Its horns collide with Derek's chest. Jackson can hear the _crack_ of snapping ribs from here. The lion-monster throws its head back, tossing Derek into the air.

"Holy shit," Jackson breathes.

The monster turns, rounding on where Derek fell, its movements hindered in the small space of the hall. Ears pinned back, tail thrashing.

Someone shoves him from behind. He stumbles into the hall, and Isaac—who is _damaged in the head_—surges past him, leaping onto the lion-monster's back.

The monster shakes in an attempt to throw Isaac off before reaching up with one hand and grabbing him around the waist.

It pitches Isaac through an office window.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson spots something bright and small, moving fast. A green blur dashes past, putting itself between Derek and the lion-monster.

A high, feminine voice shouts, "Stop!"

The lion-monster takes another swipe at Derek, but the strike is deflected. The green whatever has something in its hands: a long staff. Derek lunges for the lion-monster and is blocked the same way.

"_Stop!_"

It goes on like this for a few more rounds; every time Derek and the monster try to attack each other, they're stymied by the thing in the middle.

"I said_ stop!_"

The staff cracks the lion-monster across the nose. Derek gets a smack in the teeth.

The two stumble apart, and the little green creature between them says, "Are you done?"

The lion-monster takes a few more steps back and says, in a voice so deep and loud Jackson can feel it in his teeth: "**Yes**."

**o**

Derek is not _sulking_, no matter what Erica says.

Once they're outside, he shifts back to human and retrieves the set of clothes he keeps in the trunk of the Camaro. He winces as the motion jostles his still-healing ribs.

The lion-monster settles on its haunches in the grass, eyeing them warily.

The creature that broke up the fight is a mantis, over a foot tall, with long-fingered hands where her pincers should be. She carries a bamboo staff almost as tall as Derek is, and wears a silk flower tucked behind one of her antennae.

Derek has, technically, seen stranger things, but a giant talking bug still takes some getting used to.

"My name is Da-Xia," the bug says, crawling up to perch on the hood of Erica's truck. "This is Stargazer."

"**That's not my name. That's just what she calls me.**"

Boyd says, "So what is your name?"

The lion-monster opens his mouth and rumbles out a string of syllables in a language that sounds like rock sundering, like mountains pushed up and canyons carved. It goes on for a long, long time.

When he's finished, Da-Xia says, "You see my problem."

Stargazer lets out an annoyed snort that feels more like a gust of wind.

"Why did you attack me?" Derek says.

"**I mistook you for an enemy. When I came to this place, I expected to find those responsible for its destruction.**"

Derek's pulse ramps up. He swallows thickly and says, "You know who did this?"

"**Yes.**"

"We think we do," Da-Xia corrects. "There's an old story—"

"**It's not a story,**" Stargazer growls. "**I was there.**"

Da-Xia taps him on the nose with her staff. "It's rude to interrupt, old man."

"**Fine. Continue.**"

"As I was saying." Da-Xia's tone of voice shifts, becomes wistful, as if she's reciting something she was told many times. "Thousands of years ago, the gateways between worlds were not closed the way they are now. Using the power of mirrors, Huang Di, the Yellow Emperor, made contact with the people of another world, and for a while there was peace and much trade between the two kingdoms."

"But that didn't last," Boyd guesses.

Da-Xia nods. "The people of the mirror grew warlike. Rather than risk invasion, Huang Di closed the gate between our worlds, sealing the mirror-people away."

"**I was charged with guarding the gate,**" Stargazer says. "**It has been cracked open. The mirror-creatures are returning.**"

"And... what?" Erica says. "They decided to bomb a government research base? Why?"

"They wanted something that the FDSI had." Derek looks Stargazer in the eyes. "That's it, isn't it?"

Stargazer's posture shifts, drawing in on himself. Becoming more defensive. "**There is... a key. They found part of it here.**"

"So they snuck in, broke into the archive, took what they needed, and blasted their way out," Derek says.

"Wait," Isaac says, holding up a hand. "They blasted their way _out_? How'd they get in?"

"This place looks like it was pretty hard to break into," Erica adds.

"**It doesn't matter. There's nothing to find here. I need to move on.**"

"Wait," Derek says, as Stargazer turns to leave. "Someone important to me is wrapped up in all of this. We can help you."

Stargazer regards Derek with narrowed eyes from over his shoulder. "**I doubt that. And I have ****no reason to trust you.**"

"'The enemy of my enemy is my friend,'" Boyd quotes.

"**I can't afford friends.**" And with that, Stargazer stomps off into the trees.

Da-Xia hops down from Erica's truck. "I'm sorry about your friend." She starts to follow Stargazer. "Our paths may cross again. I'll try to bring him around."

"Well," Erica says, as the noise of Stargazer's passing fades off into the distance. "That was weird."

**o**

Once they're all gathered back in Derek's motel room, Isaac says, "So what now?"

Derek just keeps staring at the floor from where he leans against the wall, arms crossed. Finally, he says, "San Francisco."

"_Seriously?_" Jackson says. "You dragged us all the way out to Bumfuck, Colorado, and now we're going right back to California?"

"I didn't 'drag' you anywhere," Derek replies, glaring Jackson down. "_You_ decided to come with me. There's someone in San Francisco who can help us, but I didn't want to go to her unless I had no other choice."

It takes a while for Erica to place the expression on Derek's face. He's _afraid_. Erica hasn't seen Derek look properly afraid in... ever, actually.

"Is she really that bad?"

Derek lets out a shaky breath. "If we tread carefully, you'll never find out."

* * *

**Next: "Blue Flu"**


	4. Blue Flu

**Notes:** Beta by Poicephalus, whose insights resulted in a frantic partial rewrite of this chapter at 2 AM. If any of you run into her in real life, buy her a drink. And when she's not looking, hit her with a brick.

Chapter warning for discussion of child abuse.

* * *

**Chapter Four: "Blue Flu"**

Even this far from the shore, Erica can smell the sea.

She and Boyd are rooming with Jackson again, which sucks. All three of them actually got into a fight the other day over whether this arrangement sucks more for Jackson, or Erica and Boyd. She maintains that she won, no matter what Jackson says.

Erica tosses her bag onto one of the beds and walks to the window so she can open the curtains. Their motel is cheap, which means it's well outside the parts of San Francisco that actually look like San Francisco. The view from Erica's window could be any city in America.

Someone knocks on the door. When Jackson opens it, Derek and Isaac walk in.

"Your view is way better than ours," Isaac says, petulant.

Boyd raises an eyebrow at him. "Our window looks right at a liquor store."

"Ours looks right at a wall."

Derek says, "Erica, I need a phone number for Alex Tsao."

"Uh, sure." Erica digs her laptop out of her bag and fires it up.

After clicking past the usual motel wi-fi terms of service pages, a quick Google search turns up a result for 'Alex Tsao, Research & Communications.'

"What does that even _mean?_" Isaac says with slight disdain, reading over Erica's shoulder.

"She's an information broker," Derek says. "Number."

Erica reads it off. Derek dials it in on his newly-acquired burner phone. In all the time Erica's known him, Derek has never actually bought a proper phone. Although, considering the kind of life he's had, this is probably an appropriate level of paranoia.

After three rings, the call picks up and a bored voice says, "_Ms. Tsao's office, please hold._"

'The Girl from Ipanema' starts playing over the line. Derek gusts out a sigh and sits next to Erica on the bed.

A few minutes later, the voice comes back and says, "_Thank you for holding. May I ask who's calling?_"

"Derek Hale."

"_Thank you. Please hold._"

The music starts up again.

"Well, this is _riveting_." Jackson stands and stretches. "I'm gonna go have a look around."

"Stay in range of the motel," Derek calls after him.

After another ten minutes, the music cuts out and a woman's voice says, "_Derek?_"

Erica sees Derek tense up, and there's a forced smile on his face as he says, "Hi, Alex."

"_Oh my god, it's been a million years. I heard you left New York._"

Derek stands up and walks to the window. "Yeah, family stuff. My sister died." He swivels around and walks back to the bed.

"_Oh, I'm so sorry._"

Derek clears his throat, switching the phone to his other ear. "Anyway, uh, I'm in San Francisco right now and I was hoping you could look something up for me."

"_Hmm. Are you free tonight?_"

"Yeah."

"_All right, there's a restaurant by my office called Niccolo's. Meet me there, let's say... six 'o' clock?_"

"I'll be there."

"_Great. Can't wait to see you._" She hangs up.

Boyd says, "So..."

"It's a really long story," Derek says.

**o**

The maitre d' takes one look at Derek and Boyd and immediately puts his hand over a button on the podium. If Derek had to guess, he'd say that's the 'summon security to drag these peasants out into the street and euthanize them' button.

Derek says, "We're here to see Ms. Tsao."

"Oh." The maitre d' deflates. His hand drops to his side. "Through there, second booth on your left."

The restaurant is almost ridiculously opulent. It's the kind of place people use to impress their dates, or intimidate their potential business partners. There also appears to be a dress code in effect, which means Derek and Boyd quite clearly Do Not Belong.

As he passes through, Derek hears someone whisper, "Who's the biker?"

Alex waves them over when she sees them.

Derek slides into the booth first, letting Boyd take the outside seat.

Alex Tsao looks more or less exactly the same as she did years ago, when Derek first met her. Same boyish features; same business-casual wardrobe, with emphasis on the 'casual.' Aside from Boyd and Derek, she's the only person in here wearing jeans.

"Who's your friend?" Alex says, putting her elbows on the table and leaning forward.

Boyd glances at Derek. "Boyd," he says curtly. One of the first things Derek taught his pack was to be wary of who they gave their full names to.

"Nice to meet you, Boyd." Alex tilts her head slightly, looking Derek up and down. "Derek. You still have that jacket I bought you?"

"It got kind of shredded," Derek says. "Hunters."

"Mmm. I guess that's a risk. Are you two eating, or is this strictly business?"

Derek raises his eyebrows. "You really think I can afford to eat here?"

"Considering all the insurance money you've got stashed away? Yes."

Boyd must feel him tense up, because his eyes flick nervously in Derek's direction.

"I get it. You're good at your job," Derek grits out.

"The best," Alex says. Her smugness is probably warranted. Doesn't make it any less irritating. "So, what is it you need from me?"

"I want to know what happened to the FDSI."

Alex snorts out a laugh. "You and everyone else. The conspiracy theorists are going nuts, and the ones with money keep calling me. My assistant wants a raise. What's your interest?"

"You say that like you don't already know."

"I've heard a few rumors about you and some agent. Nothing conclusive." A sly grin steals across her face. "Are you confirming...?"

"Does it matter?" Derek snaps. Oh, that was too loud.

The restaurant goes quiet. A few patrons start whispering among themselves.

Derek lowers his voice. "I just need to know where they are. I can pay."

"Don't worry about it, first one's free," Alex says. "I've got your number. I'll call you when I have something. _If_ I get something."

"Thanks," Derek says. He taps Boyd on the shoulder, and Boyd shuffles out of the booth.

They're almost to the door when Alex says, "Derek!"

Derek squares his shoulders and turns slightly. Alex toys with the pearl dangling from a chain around her neck, wearing an amused, close-lipped smile.

"It was good to see you," she says.

"Yeah, you too," Derek lies.

Once they're outside, Boyd says, "That went pretty well."

Derek glares at him.

**o**

Erica figures Derek can probably hear her as she approaches the door to his motel room, but she knocks anyway.

A few seconds later, Derek opens the door.

Erica says, "Since we're here anyway, I thought we could go do some exploring. 'See the sights.' That kind of thing."

"Okay," Derek replies. He looks almost _offended_. "How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"No, Derek, when you said 'we' I meant all of us."

"I'll pass, thanks." Derek moves away from the door. Erica snakes a foot out to keep it propped open.

"But we're in San Francisco," she says.

Derek sits on the bed, checking his phone. "I did notice that, Erica, thank you."

"Derek—"

"Look, this isn't a vacation for me, okay?" Derek snaps. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging a little. "You saw what happened in Colorado. The people who did that—who were crazy enough to _directly attack the U.S. government_—that's what Stiles is up against. _And I can't find him_."

Whatever energy fueled that out burst depletes, then. Derek slumps a little. His eyes are on Erica, but he keeps turning the phone over in his hands. He may not actually realize he's doing it.

"I let you all come with me because I knew you'd follow me anyway," Derek says. "I figured, at least this way, I could protect you. But I _need_ you to understand how dangerous this is for you."

Erica swallows, her mouth dry. "Okay," she says quietly. "Should we stay in?"

Derek lets out a sigh, the tension around him dissipating. He rubs the heel of his hand against his forehead. "No. Go be a tourist. Have fun. Keep your phone on. I'll see you later."

"And you'll just... sit by the phone and wait for your information broker to call."

"Yeah."

"... Okay."

Erica moves her foot and lets the door swing shut.

**o**

Jackson has no idea why he's out here.

Well, he knows why he's _here_, sitting under a tree in Golden Gate Park, watching Erica attempt to climb some kind of rope tower thing in three-inch leopard print heels. The others asked him if he wanted to come do touristy crap with them, and it seemed like a less boring idea than sitting around the motel, so he said yes.

Boyd stands on the edge of the playground, eyes on Erica, laughing and providing 'moral support.'

"What's she _doing_?" Jackson says.

Isaac looks up from where he's been plucking and shredding individual blades of grass. "Erica wasn't allowed on the playground after the seizures started. Everyone was worried she'd fall and hurt herself. I think she missed it."

Jackson considers Isaac with a sidelong look. "You were friends with her back then."

Isaac shrugs. "We were close when we were little. Drifted apart. Then Derek asked me if I knew anyone who might want the bite." He goes back to shredding grass.

Erica reaches the top of the tower and throws one arm up, looking a bit like Rocky atop the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum. Boyd gives her a polite little golf clap. She sticks her tongue out at him.

Jackson says, "You don't like me very much, do you?"

"Nope," Isaac says.

He doesn't say anything else for a while, and Jackson assumes that's the end of it until Isaac adds, "You never told anyone."

"What?"

Isaac's staring at him now. "You lived right across the street. I know you saw things. Why didn't you ever tell anyone?"

Jackson bristles. "Why didn't _you?_"

"I thought nobody would believe me!" Isaac snarls. "He told me I'd just get in trouble for lying. And then one night I looked across the street and there you were, watching." He shakes his head. "For a little while there, I actually believed it was over, you know? Somebody finally knew. Any day now they'd come to take my dad away. And do you know what happened?"

Jackson doesn't answer. He remembers that night. He remembers being confused, and a little afraid, and finally deciding it was better not to get involved.

"Nothing," Isaac spits.

Boyd helps Erica down from the rope tower like she's a princess stepping out of a carriage.

Jackson says, "I did tell the sheriff."

"Yeah, when my dad turned up dead and everybody thought I did it," Isaac says with a sneer. "Thanks for that."

Jackson lurches to his feet, firing off a noncommittal, "Whatever," as he walks away.

**o**

It's starting to get dark when Derek's phone lights up. He answers the call right in the middle of the first ring. "Yeah?"

"_Michael Ashton,_" Alex says.

"What?"

"_Before the incident in Kenopsia, the FDSI was investigating Michael Ashton. He's big in Silicon Valley, more money than god. I had someone look into Ashton's finances, and he's just liquidated a lot of assets._"

"What for?"

"_No way to tell for sure, but I've got a theory. Ever heard of Blue Flu?_"

The term sounds familiar, but Derek can't quite place it. "Not really."

"_It's a kind of unofficial police strike. Oakland PD seems to be having a bout of Blue Flu tonight. Almost all of District One's night shift have called in sick._"

Derek gets up off the bed and starts to pace, running a hand through his hair. "There aren't any cops on the streets in Oakland?"

"_Around the docks? Almost none_."

"Oakland PD can't be _that_ corrupt."

"_It doesn't have to be. You just have to pay off the right people. Something's going to happen in the docks tonight, and somebody wants to make sure the cops aren't in a position to interfere. I'd bet money on that 'somebody' being Ashton._"

Derek grabs his keys and his jacket and heads for the door. "Thanks."

"_Did I hear keys? Where are you going?_"

"Oakland."

"_Of course you are._"

**o**

"I don't get it," Jackson says. "It's a bridge."

Boyd is obviously judging him. "It's the _Golden Gate Bridge_."

"Like I said. It's a bridge. We're on a cruise to look at a bridge."

Erica tips up onto her toes, scanning the crowd. "Where'd Isaac go?"

"He's probably as bored as I am," Jackson says. "Seriously, Erica, why are we out here admiring the infrastructure?"

"It was Boyd's idea. I just wanted to go on a boat." She props one elbow up on the rail, looking up at the illuminated bridge that rises out of the dark. "It's pretty, though."

Boyd bends down to whisper something in her ear. Erica giggles.

Jackson rolls his eyes. "Adorable."

"Seriously, though," Erica says. "We should find Isaac."

Jackson says, "Why are you so worried about him?"

Erica chews her lip. "Something Derek said. We really shouldn't get separated."

"God, fine, I'll go get him," Jackson says, turning and heading belowdecks.

To Boyd, Erica says, "Did I not just say we shouldn't get separated?"

It's crowded down here, and noisy. Jackson shoves someone harder than he meant to—he's still getting used to his strength—and the guy's drink goes flying.

The guy turns, slowly. "What. The fuck."

"Sorry." Jackson tries to move past him, but the guy's hand lands on his shoulder.

"What the fuck was that, asshole?" the guy says.

Jackson brushes his hand off. "I said I was sorry. If I weren't underage, I'd buy you a new one. Now leave me alone."

From behind him, Jackson hears Isaac's voice: "Is there a problem here?"

Isaac's got his hands in his pockets, every line in his body tense. Jackson knows this look. The whole pack knows this look. It's not good.

The guy must be exceptionally oblivious—or maybe drunk—because he says, "Dickhead here spilled my drink."

"'Dickhead'?" Jackson says, unimpressed. "Really?"

Isaac's gaze flits between the two of them. "So? Fuck off."

And now it's glaringly obvious the guy has no self-preservation instincts, because he crowds into Isaac's space and barks, "What did you say to me?"

Isaac headbutts him.

**o**

Once he reaches the docks, Derek throws the car into park and kills the engine so he can hear properly. Off to the north, just on the edge of his hearing, comes the distinct rattle of gunfire.

Derek turns the car back on and starts driving again.

It isn't long before he comes across two SUVs parked across the road, blocking it. The two guys manning the roadblock have Kevlar vests and very big guns. One of them walks over and taps on Derek's window.

"Road's closed," the guy says once Derek cracks the window.

In his best 'indignant entitled asshole' impression, Derek says, "I need to get through."

The guy shifts his grip on his rifle, probably in order to draw Derek's attention to it. Derek recognizes the model; Argent and his hunters were fond of it.

"Turn around," the guy says.

"Sure," Derek replies, throwing his car into reverse.

He drives just far enough away that the guards won't see him, parks the car, and gets out.

It isn't hard to evade the roadblocks on foot. Derek follows the sound of gunfire, until he hits a fence.

He's at the edge of a cargo yard. From here he can see some kind of base camp. More Kevlar, more guns. Two women stand close to each other, one of them barking orders into a radio, while a man in a suit paces behind them. He stops and tries to say something to the woman with the radio; she regards him with a flat look until he falls silent.

Beyond the camp stretches a massive labyrinth of stacked shipping containers.

Derek scales the fence and lands softly on the other side. He skirts around the edge of the yard, trying to filter the din of human voices and weapons fire, hoping he'll recognize_ something_.

He turns a corner and almost collides with another body. Derek leaps back, claws extending. The stranger turns around—

"_Stiles?_"

Stiles just stares at him, utterly bewildered.

A million questions run through Derek's head. He doesn't even know where to _start_. So he follows his first impulse.

He reaches for Stiles and drags him into a hug.

Stiles freezes up, then relaxes and puts his arms around Derek. He smells like sweat and cordite, but not like soap or Adderall or any of the other notes usually overlaying his scent. But the overlays are irrelevant. Underneath all of it, it's still Stiles.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles says, pulling back.

"Looking for you," Derek replies. He flinches as another burst of gunfire goes off, close by. "What's going on?"

Stiles stares at him again. Derek can almost see the gears in his head turning.

"They're trying to kill Director Lei," Stiles says.

"Who's 'they'?"

Stiles shakes his head. "Look, you probably have a lot of questions, but it'll have to wait. I have to get to the director before they do."

Derek nods. "Where is she?"

"Main office. On the other side of the yard." Stiles looks Derek over. "You coming?"

"You gonna tell me I shouldn't?"

"Not today."

Nearby, someone starts shouting. Stiles grabs Derek around the arm and drags him behind a shipping container.

"We can't risk being spotted," Stiles whispers. "By anyone. I don't know who I can trust."

"I can work with that." Derek takes a few long strides back, gets a running start, and clambers up on top of the shipping container.

He kneels at the edge and holds a hand out to Stiles. "Come on."

**o**

Jackson drags Isaac back up to the deck. His heart won't stop pounding. Security's probably going to turn up any second now.

"Let go of me," Isaac growls, yanking his arm out of Jackson's grip.

Jackson says, "Why the _fuck_ did you do that?"

"He was too close for me to punch him."

It's not even that funny, but a laugh claws its way out of Jackson's throat anyway. He laughs, because any other reaction at this point is out of the question.

Isaac seems to approve of Jackson's sudden loss of sanity. "Fuck," he says, with a hysterical giggle. "_Fuck_, I'm not supposed to do shit like that. I promised Derek I wouldn't."

"Derek got into a barfight. He doesn't get to judge."

Isaac laughs again and rubs his forehead. "That actually really hurt."

"You play lacrosse," Jackson points out. "Do you honestly expect me to believe you can feel pain in your head?"

"Asshole," Isaac says, without much conviction.

**o**

One of the first practical lessons Derek learned about dealing with humans is, they almost never look up.

Derek climbs up onto the next stack of shipping containers, pulling Stiles up after him, then starts running along the top of the crates, careful to tread lightly. They're getting close to the office.

Skirmishes play out all over the labyrinth of the cargo yard, little bursts of violence whenever the two sides come into contact. The defensive line can't hold; they're too outnumbered. Inch by agonizing inch, they're falling back.

Stiles hasn't said a word since they started moving. Tactically, it makes sense, but the silence still has Derek on edge.

The row ends, and Derek drops down onto the crate below. Stiles lands softly behind him.

Between them and the office—a two-story building constructed mostly out of corrugated sheet metal—is a wide swath of open ground.

"Stay out of the light," Stiles says as he climbs down.

They circle around the back of the building, where one of the windows on the second floor has been smashed. Derek boosts Stiles up to it and climbs up after him.

It's dark inside. This room looks mostly unused, but Derek can hear voices in other parts of the building, and the sound of equipment being moved.

"This way," Stiles says, crossing the room to a pair of sliding doors.

Before Stiles has a chance to reach them, the doors open.

Standing on the other side is... Stiles.

Another Stiles, with a split lip and a bloody scrape along one cheek, reeking of stress, Adderall, and cheap hotel soap.

Stiles—the one Derek snuck into this building with—swears in a language Derek's never heard before and reaches for the gun holstered at his belt.

* * *

**Next: "Seven Soldiers"**


	5. Seven Soldiers

**Notes:** This chapter became easier to write once I realized I could never in my life come up with something as insane as "Constructicon Alpha Twins." Beta by Poicephalus, and some casual nitpicking by Dusty.

* * *

**Chapter Five: "Seven Soldiers"**

The other Stiles is quicker on the draw.

Two gunshots ring out. This close, they're deafening. Something warm splatters across Derek's sleeve.

And then Derek finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun.

The Stiles on the floor—the one with two holes in his neck—makes a gurgling noise as blue blood bubbles up between his lips. His features flicker like an old, damaged VHS tape. For brief moments his skin turns silvery, crystalline.

The other Stiles—the _real_ Stiles, the one holding the gun—says, "The last time I tried to point a gun at you, what did you say?"

Derek's brain feels like it's wading through tar. "What?"

Stiles' finger is on the trigger. "In Deaton's office, when you thought he was the Alpha. I tried to draw on you. You threatened me. What did you say?"

"I..." Derek blinks. Looks into Stiles' eyes. There's nothing behind them but cold suspicion. "I don't remember. Something about kneecaps?"

Stiles stares at him.

Then he says, "... Oh, fuck it, good enough."

He lowers the gun.

A woman's voice barks, "Stilinski!"

Stiles looks over his shoulder, holstering his gun. "Director. One of them tried to get in."

The woman—Derek assumes she's the director—steps around Stiles and stands over the thing on the floor, which has almost completely lost its hold on Stiles' shape.

It gives one last, choking gasp and goes still.

The director nudges the shapeshifter with her foot. It's thin, long-limbed, angular; to Derek, it looks like a creature made out of silvered glass. The shapeshifter's featureless, mask-like face rolls in Derek's direction. Its dead eyes stare up at him.

"This is the one that tried to kill you?" the director says.

"I think so," Stiles says, crouching by its head, blocking Derek's view of its face. "Must have thought he succeeded, too. I'm not sure he'd try a stunt like this, otherwise."

Stiles sounds withdrawn. Hollow.

The director pushes her jacket back, putting her hands on her hips, and looks up at Derek. "What about him?"

"He's safe," Stiles says as he stands. "This is Derek Hale. Derek, this is my boss."

"Miranda Lei," the director says by way of greeting. She squints at Derek. "You're the werewolf."

From the other room, someone shouts, "Director!"

"Yeah?" she calls back, striding back through the door. Stiles follows her; Derek takes one last look at the dead shapeshifter and follows Stiles.

It's a big room, packed with agents and partially-disassembled computer equipment. Bundles of cable snake across the floor; Derek has to step carefully so he doesn't trip over them.

An agent holding a tablet approaches Lei. "We managed to patch into their communications. Getting some unusual chatter."

"Such as?"

A woman's voice, made tinny by the tablet's speakers, says, "_Colonel Sha to all points. Fall back and regroup at the base camp._"

Almost immediately after comes a man's voice: "_This is Ashton. Scratch that. Sha, what the hell are you—_"

The transmission cuts off.

Stiles regards the tablet with a quizzical look. "The fuck?"

"Sounds like the chain of command might be a little confused," Lei says.

"_Colonel Sha to all points. My previous orders stand. Fall back. We're done here._"

"They're giving up?" Stiles says, disbelieving. "_Now?_"

Lei swivels on her heel to address the room at large. "Finish packing this equipment up and get everyone moving," she commands. "I don't want to be here when Sha decides it's time for Round Two."

Fingers wrap around Derek's wrist. Stiles pulls him aside. Voice lowered, he says, "What are you doing here?"

"I already—" Derek winces and shakes his head. Wrong Stiles. "I came to find you."

Stiles opens his mouth to reply, but across the room, the director shouts, "Stilinski! Work now, feelings later!"

"This really isn't a good time to talk." Stiles lets out a slightly hysterical laugh, coming back to himself a little. "God, that's such an understatement."

Derek leans forward and brushes his lips against Stiles', pulling away quickly. "Come find me when you're done here," he says, and gives Stiles the motel's address.

Stiles swallows thickly and nods. "Okay."

"_Stilinski!_"

"You should get out of here," Stiles says. "Fast."

As Derek climbs back out the broken window, he hears the director say, "Think we can take the body with us?"

"I think that might technically be a war crime, boss."

**o**

As Derek approaches his motel room, the door to Erica's room opens.

"Derek!"

The door to his own room opens, too, and Isaac says, "What happened?"

"We got back and you were gone," Erica says. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Derek says.

Isaac fidgets, his fingers curling around the door frame. "Did you find Stiles?"

Derek suddenly feels very tired. "Yeah."

Erica stares at him expectantly. "... And?"

"I'll talk about it in the morning. It's late. Get some sleep."

**o**

Ashton Towers is a large enough facility that Michael Ashton could afford to turn over an entire floor for the use of his 'guests.' The conversion is minimal: pallets placed on desks to turn them into bunks, and mats on the floor of a conference room to turn it into a gym.

Hui lands flat on her back, the mat just barely cushioning the impact. Sha releases her arm and holds out a hand to pull Hui back to her feet.

From the sidelines, Fang belts out a raucous laugh. When Fang was told human females trend smaller than the males, she took it as a suggestion rather than a rule. The human form she crafted for herself is tall, broad-shouldered, well-muscled.

In the corner, Kai shakes his head, unimpressed, then goes back to cleaning the disassembled gun spread out across the floor in front of him. He's smaller than Fang, built for speed and stealth rather than brute force. He doesn't speak to Hui very much, although she once overheard him grousing to Sha about the clumsy, primitive weapons he's been forced to use.

Hui ignores them both and stretches, wincing at the pull of bruised muscle. These human forms are more resilient, more durable, but she hates how her aches and pains settle under her skin and stay there. She has to resist the urge to claw them out.

The door behind Hui opens. The twins, Bao and Li, enter. Sha's had them on some kind of assignment that involves sneaking around Ashton Towers at odd hours of the night.

Bao says, "What did we miss?"

"Not much," Fang replies with a grin. "The major's been spending most of her time on the floor."

"Major Hui is your superior officer, Fang," Sha says evenly. "Act like it." She rolls her neck and starts to unwrap her hands. "I think we're done for tonight."

Hui shakes her head. "Just a little longer."

"We're not accomplishing anything here. You're too upset about Zhen." Sha finishes removing the hand-wraps and tosses them aside. Fang hands her a water bottle; Sha takes a few long gulps. "You're fighting angry."

Hui can feel the others' eyes on her.

She wipes sweat out of her eyes and says, "I'm not—"

"I can tell, Hui." Sha steps closer. She's not angry, but her voice has an edge to it. "In combat, a soldier needs to be calm. Clear-headed. You can't let passion cloud your judgment, especially—"

"—especially if I'm about to take a life," Hui finishes. "I know."

The door opens again. Sha tenses, then settles into resigned annoyance. "Ashton."

"What the hell happened out there?" Ashton snaps as he strides into the gym. Hui turns so she can see him. From the looks of it, he spent a few minutes adjusting his tie and straightening his suit before he came down here to yell at Sha. "One of your men dies and you just _give up_?"

"The mission was doomed from the start," Sha replies. "They knew we were coming. Sending Zhen in was the only chance we had of reaching the director in time. Once he was killed, the mission failed."

Ashton sputters. "They knew we were coming? How?"

"An intelligence leak. And I know it wasn't one of my people, so it must be one of yours. Fix it, Ashton."

That takes the wind out of Ashton. He turns on his heel and heads for the door.

"One more thing," Sha calls after him. "Don't _ever_ countermand my orders again."

**o**

It's past three in the morning.

Derek tries to sleep. He'll lie on the bed for a few minutes at a time, then get up and pace around the room, trying to burn off energy. Isaac gave up about an hour ago, mumbling something about sleeping in Boyd and Erica's room as the door shut behind him.

There's a light knock on the door. Stiles' voice says, "It's me."

Derek rushes to the door, then pauses, hand hovering over the doorknob. "Prove it."

"After the Alpha tried to rip your lungs out, you were stuck in bed for a few days and I made you sit through a bunch of cartoons, which you pretended not to like but totally—"

Derek opens the door and pulls Stiles inside. Stiles huffs a laugh and grabs Derek, one hand around the back of his neck and the other gripping his shoulder, as he drags their mouths together. Derek groans, shutting the door so he can press Stiles up against it.

The kiss is sloppy, frantic, as Stiles grabs hold of every part of Derek he can reach. Derek tugs on Stiles' shirt, untucking it so he can get his hands on bare skin.

He tastes blood.

Derek pulls back sharply.

"No, no, come back," Stiles whines, pulling on the front of Derek's shirt.

"You're bleeding."

Stiles brings his thumb up to wipe at his split lip, examining the smear of blood with dazed disinterest. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

"What happened to you?"

Stiles sighs, an annoyed tilt to his mouth. "Long story short, a shapeshifter from a parallel Earth shoved my face into the pavement. Can we talk about it later?"

"You disappeared," Derek says, moving in close again. He rests his forehead against Stiles'. "I had no idea if you were even alive."

Stiles tilts his head up, capturing Derek's mouth again. "I know, I know, I'm sorry," he says, in between brief kisses. "I did it to keep you safe, I'm sorry."

Derek knows he should pull back again, make Stiles _talk to him_, but today's been too damn long and all he wants to do is crawl into bed with Stiles and stay there forever.

He pulls Stiles away from the wall and steers him toward the bed. Stiles takes his hands off Derek just long enough to shrug out of his jacket, then he's tugging Derek's shirt up. Derek pulls the t-shirt off, tosses it aside, and pushes Stiles onto the bed, crawling over him.

"Hang on, hang on," Stiles pants, as Derek unbuttons his shirt. He squirms and fumbles with his belt. He's still wearing his holster. Stiles tugs his belt free and carefully places the holster on the nightstand, turned so that the gun's muzzle isn't pointed at them.

Stiles killed someone today. Derek knows, objectively, that Stiles has had lethal force encounters. He's seen Stiles in firefights. But he's never seen Stiles put someone down, before tonight.

"Derek?"

Stiles is looking up at him with concern, mouthing hanging open slightly, shirt half-unbuttoned.

Derek shakes it off and dips his head to mouth along Stiles' collarbone, undoing the remainder of Stiles' shirt buttons.

Impatient, Stiles shoves Derek's pajama pants down. Derek makes a choking noise into Stiles' skin as Stiles' hand wraps around his cock. He yanks at Stiles' fly, nearly breaking the zipper in his haste to get it open.

They're both too wound up to last very long. Stiles comes first, bucking up and biting Derek's lower lip as he does. Derek isn't far behind.

Derek collapses onto Stiles, content to stay there for the foreseeable future, but Stiles says, "Oh my god, you're heavy," and pushes him to the side. Stiles grabs some tissues from the nightstand and makes a token effort to wipe them both down before chucking them in the wastebin and kicking his pants and shoes off.

"You staying?" Derek says. He meant it to be an offhand inquiry, but it comes out raw and open.

"Yeah," Stiles says, rolling to face Derek. He looks exhausted, worn down to the bone. "Tonight."

**o**

When Hui approaches Ashton's office, Ashton's assistant looks up from where she's been pecking halfheartedly at her keyboard and says, "Morning."

A couple of weeks ago, Sha took issue with Ashton's last assistant, claiming she was a security risk. In a fit of sarcastic pique, Ashton hired a young woman so utterly disinterested in anything outside her purview that Hui suspects she was constructed in a factory.

Hui says, "Is Mr. Ashton free at the moment?"

"He's still working on his coffee."

Hui decides to interpret that as a 'yes' and opens the door to Ashton's office.

The office is large, but there isn't much in here besides a desk and some chairs. It's a sharp contrast to the lavish decoration adorning his home.

In a flat voice, and without looking away from his computer, Ashton says, "What do you want?"

Hui clears her throat and says, "I was hoping we could talk before the the colonel and I leave for Alaska."

Ashton snaps to attention, immediately sitting up a little straighter, a nervous smile breaking out across his face. "Major Hui. Sorry, I thought you were somebody else. Please, sit down."

Hui drags a chair over to Ashton's desk and sits. "I just wanted to make sure there isn't any lingering friction after what happened last night."

Ashton's smile falters slightly. He's disappointed. "Right. Of course. Don't worry about it. Water under the bridge."

Hui places her hands in her lap and leans forward. "The colonel and I value your input, Mr. Ashton, but it's important to avoid giving the soldiers conflicting orders. Especially considering the... flexible nature of their loyalties."

"Right, I completely understand," Ashton says. "It won't happen again."

He's not really listening to her. Ashton is more interested in smoothing things over than he is in actually solving the problem. Given a choice, Hui probably wouldn't be working with him. But Ashton's all they've got; a man so desperate for greatness that he would betray an entire world.

"Good," Hui says, standing. "I need to report to the colonel."

"Okay. Uh. Thank you for coming to talk to me."

"It's why I'm here, Mr. Ashton. If this mission is to succeed, we all need to be on the same wavelength."

**o**

Derek wakes up when someone taps on his door.

From the other side, Boyd says, "Derek?"

Stiles is still here, sleeping like the dead. Derek rolls out of the bed, careful not to wake him. Through the closed door, he says, "What is it?"

"There's a woman downstairs asking for you," Boyd says. "She said she wants to meet with you at the bar across the street."

"That's not a bar," Derek says, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "It's a strip club."

"She pointed right at it."

"Did this woman tell you her name?"

"She said, 'if he asks, tell him it's the director.'"

**o**

The club is almost completely empty; only the truly sad hang out in a strip joint at ten in the morning. The guy behind the bar is in the middle of cleaning the beer taps, and there's a girl wearing a housecoat, sequined nipple pasties, and not much else perched on the edge of the stage, phone in hand as she scrolls through her Twitter feed.

Derek finds the director in a booth at the far end of the room, her hands wrapped possessively around a paper cup full of what smells like coffee.

Miranda Lei is in her mid-thirties, and either isn't wearing makeup or is wearing the kind of makeup that makes her _look_ like she isn't wearing makeup. Her suit isn't particularly expensive, but it's well-tailored and immaculately cared for. There's a tablet sitting on the table in front of her.

"Why here?" Derek says as he approaches.

"It's empty and there's no windows," Lei replies. "You want anything? Coffee?"

"No, thanks." Derek sits across from her.

Lei shrugs and reaches into her jacket's inside pocket, pulling out a small metal disc. She places it on the table and taps it. A high-pitched whine fills the air, just at the upper limits of Derek's hearing.

Derek cringes. "What is _that_?"

"Just a precaution," Lei says. "On the off chance either one of us is bugged, this will scramble the outgoing signal." She takes a sip of her coffee. "How much has Stilinski told you?"

"Nothing," Derek says, doing his best to filter out the noise of the scrambler. "He let slip something about a parallel Earth, but that's it." Derek narrows his eyes at her. "Is this what you called me down here for? To make sure Stiles didn't tell me anything?"

"Not quite." Lei puts the coffee cup back on the table and mantles over it. "You're familiar with the attack on Field Station Tian-Hou?"

Derek nods.

"What happened at Tian-Hou was an attempted decapitation strike," Lei says. "Director Heidingsfeld and I were supposed to be there that morning. The only reason we weren't is because our flight was delayed."

"Lucky break."

"No kidding. Emergency protocol states that in the event of a direct attack on the department, all stations and agents are to go dark until the source of the threat can be determined, and the threat eliminated."

"So have you determined the source of the threat?"

With one finger, Lei nudges the tablet across the table toward Derek.

He wakes it up out of sleep mode. The tablet displays a surveillance photo of a woman of indeterminate age, close-cropped hair framing sharp, angular features. Derek recognizes her; she was at the cargo yard last night.

"Colonel Sha," Lei says. "Leader of an advance military unit from a parallel Earth ruled by a nation called the Silver Empire."

"'Parallel Earth'?" Derek says, as he scrolls through the photos: more shots of the woman, including a few pictures of her with a man in a suit. "That doesn't sound a little too comic book to you?"

"I'm sensing an unwarranted amount of skepticism from a man who turns into a wolf every full moon," Lei says mildly. "From what we can gather, the Silver Empire went through a dramatic regime change almost five thousand years ago. They've been at war ever since."

"With who?"

"_Everybody_," Lei says. "They just finished conquering their own world. Now, apparently, they've decided to branch out."

"By invading our world," Derek says, mulling it over. It sounds insane, but Derek suspects it makes perfect sense to certain people. Some of them may have a golf-ball sized tumor sitting on the part of their brain that processes normality. "How many of them are there?"

"Seven. Six, now that we've killed one of them."

Derek raises his eyebrows. "They expect to invade an entire planet with seven people?"

"Whatever method Sha and her soldiers used to get here, it won't work for the whole army," Lei says. "They're looking for something they can use to open the way from this side. A key, split into three pieces."

Derek shakes his head, trying to clear it. This conversation is giving him a headache. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because we're losing," Lei says, the lines around her eyes softening a little. "Sha has an ally. Michael Ashton. She's got his money and power backing her up, and two pieces of the key. All I've got are a handful of field agents in their twenties with next to no combat experience. We need all the help we can get."

"You're asking for my help?"

"Yours and your pack's." Lei leans forward again. "If you help us, maybe we can win this and send all my agents back home to their families."

Derek can tell when somebody's trying to manipulate him. That doesn't mean it isn't working.

"I'll do it," Derek says. "On one condition."

"Name it."

"If my pack agrees to help you, we keep them as far away from the front lines as possible. They're not soldiers. They're kids."

"Deal," Lei says, taking another sip of her coffee.

There's a rush of air as the door to the club opens, and a clatter of footsteps. Stiles skids into view, hair sticking up in all directions, shirt buttoned up crooked.

"What did you tell him?" Stiles says, breathing hard.

Voice even but stern, Lei says, "Stilinski—"

"No," Stiles snaps. "I _told you_ no."

"It's not your decision to make," Lei says.

Derek stands, putting a hand on Stiles' shoulder, trying to calm him down. "Stiles—"

But Stiles isn't paying attention to him. "What, after I said I wouldn't do it, you decided to come recruit him yourself? You're that eager to get him killed?"

"_Stilinski!_" Lei barks. The sound echoes through the room like a thunderclap.

The stripper looks up briefly, then goes back to playing Angry Birds on her phone.

More quietly, Lei says, "My conduct as your commanding officer will be discussed once this operation is over. Until then, you will follow my orders without question, or you will be detained. Understood?"

Stiles nods, jaw clenched shut.

"Good," Lei says. She stands, straightening her jacket. "Both of you report to to the airport at 0800 tomorrow."

She pockets the scrambler, picks up the tablet, and walks out of the room.

"Fuck," Stiles breathes. He looks like he's about to cry.

* * *

**Next: "The Emperor's Daughter"**


	6. The Emperor's Daughter

**Notes:** I feel like I'm now competing with Jeff Davis to see who can be weirder and more melodramatic. Beta by the long-suffering Poicephalus.

* * *

**Chapter Six: "The Emperor's Daughter"**

The cargo plane hits a patch of turbulence and jolts. Stiles hears Derek's sharp intake of breath less than a second before a hand grabs his.

Stiles says, "You don't like planes?"

"I don't like _this_ plane," Derek replies through gritted teeth.

"It's the best we could get on short notice."

Six seats have been installed in the cargo hold; two rows of three, facing each other.

"Okay," Stiles says. "Now that we're in the air I can brief you." Once he's sure he's got everybody's attention, he says, "We're headed up to Field Station Sedna, in Alaska."

Derek says, "I thought all the field stations were abandoned."

"They are. Sedna went dark like the others, but the agents assigned there never reported in."

Erica says, "What happened to them?"

Stiles shrugs. "Nobody knows for sure. But we're not going up there to find the field team. Colonel Sha has taken an interest in the station. She's headed up there with a shitload of mercenaries. Our job is to get to the station first, make sure there isn't anything there that the enemy could use against us, and bug out before Sha gets there."

"Seems easy enough," Isaac says.

"Oh god, don't say that," Stiles groans. "Great. You jinxed it."

**o**

The plane lands on a dirt runway in what appears to be the middle of nowhere. Nothing but forest as far as the eye can see.

"Field Station Sedna is about five miles from here," Stiles says as they disembark. He's ditched the suit in favor of a long-sleeved t-shirt and khakis tucked into hiking boots. "We're walking the rest of the way."

In unison, all the teenagers groan.

"Oh, come on, you're _werewolves_," Stiles says.

**o**

Stiles takes point. Derek follows close behind him.

It's all birch forest around here, thin white trunks breaking up the mass of green around them. Stiles finds it a little unsettling, like walking through the bones of some long-dead _thing_. And there are mosquitoes _everywhere_. Stiles doesn't even care about being bitten anymore. He just wishes they'd stop hovering around his ears; the noise is fucking awful.

He can feel Derek's eyes on the back of his neck.

"Okay, what?" Stiles says.

"I didn't say anything," Derek replies.

"I know. I could hear you very loudly not saying anything."

"You're upset," Derek says. "You've been upset since yesterday."

Stiles sighs and slaps at a mosquito. "Can we talk about that later?"

"You've been saying _that_ since yesterday, too," Derek says. "When exactly is this mythical 'later' you keep talking about?"

"How about when the world _isn't_ about to be invaded by shapeshifting imperialists?"

Stiles slaps another mosquito and swears quietly to himself.

"You don't want me here," Derek says.

"Really? Did your fancy werewolf senses tell you that?"

"Why?"

"'Why?'" Stiles stops and turns around so he can see Derek. A few yards away, the pack also stops and takes a couple steps back, suddenly very interested in the foliage. "I don't want you to get killed, that's why!"

Behind him comes the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Stiles spins around, hand on his holster.

Partially hidden in the trees is the shape of a lion-creature the size of a truck, with an abnormally large praying mantis sitting on its head.

"We can come back later," says the mantis.

**o**

The walk goes faster with Stargazer breaking a trail through the forest. Jackson finds himself falling behind the rest of the pack, eavesdropping.

"You _walked_ all the way from Colorado to Alaska?" Stiles says.

"**Yes.**"

"Not _all_ the way," Da-Xia corrects. "We rode some trains. But there was a lot of walking. Stargazer doesn't sleep."

"Okay," Stiles says, dubious. "_Why_ did you walk all the way to Alaska?"

"**There is something very old here,**" Stargazer rumbles. "**Something our enemy would seek to possess, if they knew it was here.**"

Derek says, "The last piece of the key?"

"**Not the key. Something else.**"

"That's super helpful," Stiles says dryly. "Thanks."

Stargazer lets out a low, unimpressed grunt and continues pushing his way through the trees.

Stiles and Derek fall back a little. Quietly, Stiles says, "You make such interesting friends."

"I've never seen anything like him before," Derek says. "Have you?"

"He's a... I guess the best word for it would be 'guardian.' I've heard of them. Various cultures encountered them and called them sphinxes, or shishi, or angels."

"_That's_ an angel?"

"Angels weren't originally described as pretty dudes with wings. They were chimeric. Animal heads, that kind of thing. Where's the other one?"

Derek sounds confused. "What 'other one'?"

"From what I've read, guardians like this live in male-female pairs. Something about 'a balance of energies.' Where's his partner?"

From next to Jackson's foot, a voice says, "Hello."

Jackson startles and almost falls over.

"Sorry," Da-Xia says. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I'm fine." Jackson shakes it off and keeps walking. Da-Xia follows, easily keeping pace with him.

After a few minutes, Jackson says, "Look, is there something you want?"

"You're all alone back here," Da-Xia replies. "I thought I'd keep you company."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Whatever," Jackson mutters.

Da-Xia looks up at where Erica, Boyd, and Isaac walk ahead of them, talking to each other in low murmurs. "Why aren't you walking with them?"

"I am."

"No you're not. You're back here." Da-Xia cocks her head to the side. "Aren't they your friends?"

"They're my pack. Barely."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"Okay," Da-Xia chirps, and falls silent again.

Ahead of then, Derek holds up a hand and says, "Wait."

Stargazer comes to a halt. He pins his ears back and lowers his head.

Stiles says, "What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure." Derek takes a few steps ahead.

Jackson hears the tripwire go off only a moment before a painfully loud _bang_ rips through the air. There's a flash of light. Derek stumbles back, arm covering his eyes, as Stiles draws his gun.

Stargazer lets out a challenging roar.

A woman's voice shouts, "Federal agents! Drop your weapons and get on the ground!"

"_Harley?_" Stiles shouts back.

**o**

Field Station Sedna sits at the bottom of a sheer cliff face, its most definitive feature a towering glass pyramid: the conservatory. A few low, flat buildings surround it, connected by covered walkways that cause the whole facility to resemble a giant hamster palace.

Agent Rebecca Harlowe leads them down the hill, towards the field station. "Sorry about that," she says. "I've been setting traps ever since the evacuation order came in. Can't be too careful."

Derek rubs his eyes and grumbles.

Stiles says, "How many of you are still here?"

"The whole field team," Harley replies. "Myself, Dr. Haberlind, and his assistants."

"You were ordered to abandon the station."

"We couldn't," Harley says. "When the order came in, we had a patient on life support. We knocked out our comm tower, but we had to keep our systems online."

"What patient?" Derek asks.

Harley opens her mouth like she's about to explain, then closes it and shakes her head. "It's easier just to show you."

Stargazer stops and lifts his head to sniff the air. "**The entity I detected is very close.**"

Harley regards him with one raised eyebrow. "Where'd you find this guy?"

"_He_ found _us_," Stiles says.

As they approach the nearest building, the door opens and an aging man in a lab coat takes a few hesitant steps outside. He looks like the kind of guy who's spent a lot of time working in labs, and not an awful lot of time doing anything else. "Agent Harlowe?" he says. "Is everything all right?"

"It's fine, Doctor," Harley says. "False alarm. Stiles, this is Dr. Conrad Haberlind. Doctor, this is Agent Stilinski. And, uh, friends."

It occurs to Stiles that his entourage of one adult, sketchy-looking werewolf, four werewolf teenagers, one giant sphinx-monster and one really big bug might not be the most reassuring sight.

"I see," Haberlind says.

"I want to show Agent Stilinski our patient," Harley says. "Think she's up to having visitors?"

**o**

Stiles, Derek, and Da-Xia get to go into the conservatory. Everybody else has to stay outside.

The doors to the conservatory cycle open, and the humidity hits Derek like a wall. Inside, it's like an odd combination of greenhouse and show garden. Plants fill the space as far as the eye can see—there's even trees in here—with concrete paths winding between them.

"What kind of station is this?" Derek asks, passing a patch of what looks like wolfsbane.

"Biological research," Stiles says. "Mostly botany. The crap assignment to beat all crap assignments."

"I like it," Harley says, mildly offended.

"Really? I always assumed you were assigned here as punishment."

"I needed something a little quieter after the clusterfuck in Beacon Hills."

Dr. Haberlind says, "All of you please be quiet for a minute. You're scaring her."

"Scaring who?" Stiles says. Harley shushes him.

After a few seconds, Haberlind says, "It's safe to come out now."

A melodic cry answers him.

To describe what flutters down from the trees and lands next to Haberlind as a 'bird' would be technically accurate, but somehow inadequate. When it stretches its neck out, the bird can look Haberlind in the eye, and it's covered in a riot of colorful plumage: gold and green and white.

"That..." Da-Xia takes a few cautious steps forward. "That's Jingwei. The Oath Bird."

Stiles looks at her, then back at the bird. "What? No. Everything I've read says Jingwei is a small bird. Like a crow."

The bird ruffles its feathers and turns its head to watch them all with wary interest.

Derek says, "So who's Jingwei?"

"According to legend, the youngest daughter of the emperor Yan Di was swept out to sea and drowned," Stiles says. "The girl's spirit transformed into a bird: Jingwei."

Da-Xia nods and says, "Jingwei so hated the sea that she strove to fill it up. She flew back and forth between the water and the land, fetching pebbles and twigs and tossing them into the sea. The sea taunted her, saying she'd never succeed in a million years—"

"—and I replied, 'then I'll keep trying for ten million years,'" says the bird, "'or a hundred million, so no-one ever again perishes the way I did.'"

"... Also, she talks," Stiles says. "Apparently."

"She was blown here by a storm," Harley says. "Her injuries were pretty bad, but Dr. Haberlind says she'll make a full recovery."

"Great. Fantastic." Stiles claps his hands together. "Is she recovered enough to leave? Like, now?"

Haberlind looks Jingwei over. "I suppose. Why?"

Harley says, "Agent Stilinski has informed me that enemy forces are moving in on this station."

A klaxon goes off. Jingwei shrieks and takes flight, disappearing into the trees.

"And that's probably them now," Stiles says.

**o**

Harley makes a mad dash for the security office, Stiles on her heels. She skids to a halt in front of the desk. "First proximity alarm's been tripped. Main road."

"How much time do we have?"

"An hour, maybe less. Depends how fast they're going."

Dr. Haberlind and Derek appear in the doorway.

"Agent Harlowe?" Haberlind says.

Harley walks over to Haberlind and grabs him by the shoulders. "Doctor, I want you and your people to pack up everything you can carry on foot. We need to evacuate the station, _now._"

Stiles says, "Harley, when you set those traps, did you also do what I think you did?"

Harley nods, releasing Haberlind and moving back to the desk.

"What?" Haberlind says. "What did you do?"

"I planted explosives in the cliff face," Harley says.

Haberlind's jaw drops. "For god's sake, _why?_"

"In case we needed to do this," Harley snaps at him.

"My orders are not to leave anything behind the enemy can use," Stiles says. "Recover whatever samples and equipment you can, Doctor. The rest is getting buried."

The klaxon goes off again.

"Second proximity alarm," Harley says.

Haberlind runs both hands through his hair. "There isn't enough _time._"

"I can stall them," Derek says.

Stiles says, "No."

Harley says, "By _yourself?_"

"Me and the pack," Derek says, "Maybe I can convince Stargazer to help. I'll buy you some time."

**o**

Stiles manages to track Derek down by the station's front gate, leading down to the road.

"I don't like this," he says as soon as Derek's within earshot.

"I know," Derek replies. "This protective streak of yours used to be touching, but now it's just annoying."

"I _really_ don't like this," Stiles says. "It's a bad plan. Come back to the station. We need more hands."

"You've got Erica and Isaac." Slowly, like he's worried Stiles might not understand him, Derek says, "I know what I'm doing. I'll be fine."

"You're throwing yourself into gunfire as a _distraction_," Stiles snaps. "And no, I don't care how good your werewolf healing is."

"What, so you're allowed to take a bullet for me, but I'm not allowed to to take a bullet for you? Is that how this works?"

"Yes!" Stiles shouts. "Wait, no. I don't fucking know!"

Derek shakes his head. "Stiles—"

"Look, I can't let you do this. If something happens to you, I'll go out of my goddamn mind, okay? Because _I fucking love you!_"

Oh.

Shit.

Stiles said that last part out loud.

Derek looks utterly stunned, like Stiles just slapped him in the face. Which he might as well have.

"I need to go," Stiles says, and sprints back up to the field station.

**o**

The advance has been slower than Hui would like, but the logistics of moving twenty mercenaries up to a harsh, remote environment with little infrastructure don't lend themselves easily to a swift strike.

Two trucks make their way up the dirt road toward Field Station Sedna: Fang and Kai ride in the first truck, while Sha and Hui are in the second. Bao and Li stayed behind at Ashton Towers, working on yet another secret assignment from Sha.

Sha activates the radio clipped to the shoulder of her vest and says, "Fang, this is Sha. Status."

"_Sha, this is Fang. All clear so far. Honestly, I'm getting bored._"

The corner of Sha's mouth ticks up, but her voice remains neutral as she says, "Stay sharp. The station's supposed to be abandoned, but we shouldn't take any chances."

"_Yes, Colonel._"

An enormous tree slams into the ground between the two trucks.

The second truck swerves. Its nose collides with the tree at an angle; Hui jolts in her seat. She hears metal crumple.

Sha hits the radio again. "Fang! Status!"

There's a brief burst of noise over the radio, but no answer.

Sha crosses to the rear doors of the truck, throws them open, and jumps down to the ground, disappearing as she moves towards the front of the truck. Hui follows her.

The first truck has been overturned. Hui can hear gunfire. She can't see clearly, but beyond the truck, something very big and very angry is tossing soldiers around like dolls.

"Fang!" Sha barks into the radio.

"_Fang's occupied at the moment, Colonel,_" Kai says calmly. "_What's your—stand by._"

An enraged roar echoes through the forest. The body of a mercenary arcs through the air and hits the ground next to Hui.

"Colonel Sha to all points. I want everyone out of the trucks and armed. Converge on—"

Something hits the side of the second truck; the men disembarking fall to the ground, while those still inside shout in surprise. The truck teeters up onto two wheels.

"Move!" Sha yells. She drags Hui out of the way as the truck comes crashing down on its side.

There's a heavy _thud_ as a creature lands atop the truck: black fur, long claws, and red, glowing eyes. It snarls at Hui and Sha before it leaps away, back into the cover of the trees.

A human—or at least something human-shaped—charges out of the trees and slams into one of the mercenaries, knocking him to the ground. It darts away before any of the others can get a bead on it.

A few seconds later, the mercenary who was attacked stumbles to his feet.

"They're not trying to kill us," Sha says. "They're trying to scare us."

A burst of panicked swearing comes down the radio line, followed by Kai saying, "_Fang respectfully disagrees, Colonel. This one is definitely trying to kill us._"

"It's a diversion!" Sha snaps. "Colonel Sha to all points. Any of you who can, scatter and keep pushing ahead!"

Hui yelps in surprise when Sha grabs her and pulls her into the shadow of their fallen truck. "Keep your head down," Sha says.

Sha checks that her sidearm is loaded, and sprints into the cover of the trees.

**o**

Derek must have stopped the convoy right on top of another proximity alarm, because that klaxon will not shut the fuck up.

Erica doesn't even know what most of this stuff is even for, but Dr. Haberlind and his assistants _insisted_ the contents of this room couldn't be left behind, so she and Isaac have been tossing it all into crates.

Agent Harlowe pokes her head into the room and says, "Have either of you seen Dr. Haberlind?" It's hard to hear her over the alarm.

Erica glances at Isaac; he shakes his head. "No."

Agent Harlowe makes a frustrated noise and thumps her forehead against the door frame.

"I'll find him," Erica says, squeezing past Agent Harlowe and out into the hall.

She follows Haberlind's scent—mostly stress and disinfectant—to the conservatory, and finds him in the middle of the copse of trees, shouting, "It's not safe here! You need to come with me!"

Erica says, "What are you doing?"

"Jingwei's scared of the alarm," Haberlind says, squinting up into the branches. "She won't come down."

"We need to go."

"I can't just leave her here!"

Erica groans and tilts her head back, staring up at the glass roof above them. "... Does this thing open up?"

Haberlind looks at Erica like he's just noticed she's there. "There's a hatch near the top of the pyramid."

"Where's the button to open it?"

"There isn't one," Haberlind says. "It's manual. We have to use a boom lift to reach it."

"Great."

She'll have to climb up. Erica spots the hatch, tracks it down to where that face of the pyramid reaches the floor, and starts running.

If she breaks a nail doing this, there will be hell to pay.

**o**

Derek told Jackson to hang back, further up the road, and 'keep watch.' Jackson isn't stupid; he knows what Derek really meant was, 'keep out of the way and don't hurt yourself.' But his Alpha gave him an order, and Jackson would prefer not to get shot anyway, so he leans against a tree, eyes closed, and listens to the commotion further down the road.

He can hear gunfire, and Stargazer roaring, but not in pain. Whatever they're hitting him with, it's probably just pissing him off.

There's also snarls and growls, and panicked yelling, as Derek and Boyd harry the enemy soldiers, keeping them herded together and stationary.

Much closer, there's the sound of plants and twigs crunching underfoot.

Jackson opens his eyes and spots movement in his peripheral vision.

One of the soldiers has made it past Derek, Boyd, and Stargazer. She's running full tilt, headed toward the field station.

Jackson chases after her.

It doesn't take long for him to catch up. He surges forward and tackles the soldier.

She rolls them as they fall. Jackson lands flat on his back, the soldier's elbow driving up underneath his ribs. His grip loosens; she rolls away and to her feet.

He recognizes her from the photos Stiles showed them. It's Sha.

Jackson just body-slammed Colonel Sha.

Sha drops into a low stance, hands up, fingers curled like claws.

Jackson growls, lets his fangs and claws extend, and charges her.

Sha counters his first few blows easily. She hits him in the chest, the neck, the face, swift strikes with flat palms. Her fingers claw and twist, finding all of Jackson's soft spots and exploiting them ruthlessly.

A foot hooks around Jackson's ankle. He crashes to the ground, landing on his back again.

Sha draws her gun and shoots him twice in the chest.

**o**

Erica's foot slips again. Her arms and shoulders scream with the strain as her whole body weight pulls on them. Erica snarls, kicks off her shoes, and heaves her body forward, hooking her toes on the closest strut she can reach.

She keeps climbing.

The frames holding the glass panels of the pyramid in place are narrow and slippery, wet from condensation. The struts aren't close enough together that she can reach them easily; a few times, she's had to jump and hope for the best.

Erica tilts her head back so she can see the hatch. She's so _close_.

She brings her feet up, braces, and jumps.

For one heart-stopping second, it seems like she won't reach this time, but her fingers catch on the edge of a strut and hold.

She braces her feet against the two closest struts and reaches for the hatch, pulling the lever back in one quick, brutal yank.

The hatch pops open. Cool, dry air gusts across Erica's face.

The descent isn't as bad as the climb, but it's still slow and painful. Twenty feet from the ground, Erica gives up and lets herself drop the rest of the way, landing on her feet. She feels the impact all the way up to her jaw.

She finds Dr. Haberlind again and says, "Is the bird smart enough to fly out when the bombs go off?"

Haberlind says, "I think so."

"Good. Let's go."

**o**

Getting shot hurts more than anything Jackson's ever felt in his life. Even more than when the witch cut him open and shoved a feather under his skin, or when Derek ripped it back out again. Jackson tries to keep breathing, even though he wants to scream. He knows he just has to wait for the wounds to heal, but a tiny, shrieking part of his brain is convinced he's dying.

When Jackson looks up at Sha, she's watching with shocked fascination as the bullet wounds in his chest knit themselves closed.

A green blur darts toward Sha, and the tip of a bamboo staff smacks the gun out of her hand.

Sha hisses in surprise and pain and stumbles back. Da-Xia puts herself between Jackson and Sha, staff up.

Jackson would laugh at the look of utter bewilderment on Sha's face, if he had the air.

Bewilderment turns to alarm as Da-Xia attacks, her staff a whirling blur, striking again and again. Sha deflects the blows, but doesn't have the reach to counter; Da-Xia steadily drives her back, away from Jackson and the field station.

Through Jackson's earpiece, Stiles yells, "_We're setting off the charges, get clear!_"

Jackson staggers to his feet and runs.

**o**

A deafening, concussive _bang_ echoes through the forest.

Fault lines form across the cliff face, as huge chunks of rock separate and come tumbling down.

When the roar of the landslide finally fades away and the dust clears, there's nothing left of Field Station Sedna but a mess of broken glass and metal, mostly buried by rubble.

**o**

Jackson is the first to arrive at the rendezvous point. Da-Xia appears not long afterward, acknowledging Jackson with a nod as she climbs up onto a fallen log and waits.

Stiles, Agent Harlowe, Erica, Isaac, Dr. Haberlind, and his two assistants arrive next, all of them loaded down with bags and crates. The overall impression is that of an ancient trading caravan, from before humans figured out how to get camels to do all the work for them.

Stiles drops the equipment he's carrying when he sees Jackson—it hits the ground with an alarming _thud_; Haberlind winces—and says, "Where's Derek?"

"Here," Boyd calls from a few yards away. Derek trots alongside on all fours, still shifted, and Stargazer follows at a distance.

Stiles visibly sags with relief.

"Does anyone have any spare pants?" Boyd says. "Derek doesn't care, but I _really_ don't want to look at my Alpha's junk the whole way back."

Jackson didn't know it was possible for a wolf to roll its eyes.

There's a flutter above them; Jingwei lands on a branch overhead, long tail trailing below her.

"Oh, thank god," Dr. Haberlind says.

Agent Harlowe says, "Good to see you made it out okay."

"Thank you for saving my life," Jingwei says. "Twice, now, I suppose."

"You'll be all right on your own?" Dr. Haberlind says, sounding not entirely unlike a concerned mother.

"Yes," Jingwei says. She turns her attention to Stargazer. "Why aren't you at your post, guardian? And where is your other half?"

"**She's dead,**" Stargazer says. "**The Silver Empire has turned its attention back to this world.**"

Jingwei cocks her head to the side. "Then they seek Huang Di's key."

Stiles steps forward. "Do you know something?"

"A piece of the key left China over two hundred years ago," Jingwei says. "I saw the ship that carried it. Its name was the _Cawthorne_."

And with that, Jingwei takes flight and disappears above the canopy.

Stiles stares after her for a while, then clears his throat and says, "Okay. That happened."

Da-Xia hops down from the log and scurries over to Stargazer, speaking in a low voice. A few seconds later, Stargazer says, "**No.**"

"But they can help!" Da-Xia protests. "They can find the key faster than we can."

"**Finding the key is not my priority. Finding and killing the invaders is.**"

Stiles says, "Yeah, because that plan's been going _great_ so far."

"**Be quiet.**"

Da-Xia continues to talk to him, and just as Jackson decides to eavesdrop, she stops and Stargazer says, "**Fine. But I don't trust them.**"

"You don't have to," Da-Xia says. She turns to Stiles. "Stargazer and I want to join you."

Stiles looks over at Stargazer—who might possibly be sulking—and then back at Da-Xia. "Okay, then. I guess I need to explain to our pilot why we're carrying five extra people and..." he waves vaguely in Stargazer's direction, "... that."

**o**

There is an unfortunate shortage of seats.

Stiles gave his seat to Dr. Haberlind. He's parked himself on the floor near the wall; as long as he hangs onto the cargo webbing during takeoff and landing, he should be okay. Provided the plane doesn't crash.

Derek settles down next to him—someone managed to find him a pair of sweatpants—and says, "Are we going to talk about what happened earlier?"

Stiles winces. "... You mean when I confessed my undying love for you and then ran away?"

"Yeah, that."

Stiles sighs and drops his head back, letting it hit the bulkhead with a soft _thunk_. "Sorry."

"Are you saying 'sorry' for running away, or for saying you love me?"

"... Both?"

Derek gives him a blank stare.

Stiles sits up again. "Look, you've got a lot of intimacy... _issues_... and I accept that, it's fine, and I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or, like, project my expectations onto—"

Stiles has to stop talking when Derek's mouth crashes into his. His eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, and he makes a surprised noise into the kiss.

When Derek pulls back, it's only far enough to say, "I love you."

There's probably a really goofy smile on Stiles' face right now. He doesn't care. "Oh. Good."

A few minutes later, Stiles yelps, "Oh, _fuck!_"

Derek tenses. "What?"

"I could've totally quoted Han Solo there and I _didn't!_"

Derek gives Stiles a shove that sends him sprawling across the floor.

**o**

By the time Hui reaches Ashton's office, the shouting has already started.

Ashton's standing behind his desk, hands flat against its surface as he bellows, "I don't see why you're blaming _me_ for the fact that _you_ screwed up!"

Sha, stood in the middle of the room, stance wide, hands on her hips, yells back, "They knew we were coming! Again! I _told_ you to take care of that intelligence leak!"

"I've checked and rechecked my network security," Ashton says. "There's no way our communications are being intercepted."

"You _idiot_. Did you even _consider_ the possibility that someone within your company could be feeding information to the enemy?"

Ashton falters for a moment, then recovers. "That's ridiculous. I vet all my employees personally—"

But Sha's done talking. She storms out the door, and Hui falls into step behind her.

"Where's Kai?" Sha says.

"I think he's in the gym," Hui replies. She follows Sha into the elevator. Sha stabs the button for their floor. "Sha, with all due respect, antagonizing Ashton won't fix anything."

"No," Sha concedes. "But it makes me feel better."

Kai snaps to attention as Sha and Hui stride into the gym. "Colonel," he says.

"Kai," Sha answers. "Someone in this building is not who they say they are. I want you to find out who it is."

* * *

**Next: "Oly Oly Oxen Free"**


	7. Oly Oly Oxen Free

**Chapter Seven: "Oly Oly Oxen Free"**

Derek can't sleep.

He can't sleep, and his restlessness means Stiles can't sleep, either, so Derek gives up and decides to go for a walk.

The FDSI's new base of operations is hidden in the northern reaches of California, near the Oregon border. They've taken over a campground that usually hosts corporate team-building retreats; the lodge has been re-purposed into a 'war room' of sorts.

Derek wanders the paths between cabins for a while, then strikes out into the woods, following the carefully-maintained hiking trails until he finds himself by the lake.

Stargazer lays in the shallows, the water lapping around his shoulders. He acknowledges Derek with a grunt, then goes back to staring out at the lake.

Derek stands at the shore and watches the waves for a while. After a few minutes, he says, "I need to ask you something."

An ear flicks in Derek's direction. "**Oh?**"

"This key everyone's looking for. Every time I ask what it does, why it's important, they tell me I'm not cleared for that information." Thinking of Stiles, Derek adds, "Or they change the subject."

"**Of course they do. They're content to use you as a battering ram, but they don't want you doing anything as dangerous as **_**thinking**_**.**" Stargazer snorts out a laugh, his breath forming ripples in the water. "**So you want me to tell you about the key.**"

"You're the expert."

Stargazer finally turns his head to look at Derek. "**If they don't trust you with that information, why should I?**"

"Because you're a grumpy old jackass who likes being contrary?"

"**A fair point.**" Stargazer sits up, water cascading off his shoulders, and shakes out his mane. "**On its own, the key is a curiosity, but useless. Like any key.**"

"What's important is whatever it unlocks," Derek guesses.

Stargazer nods. "**Huang Di's mirror. The device he used to open paths to other worlds. The key is the focus. It allows its possessor to activate and control the mirror.**"

"So where's the mirror?"

"**When I began my vigil, the mirror was in Huang Di's possession. When I awoke, it was gone.**"

"Maybe it was destroyed."

"**If it had been destroyed, do you think Sha would pursue the key so fervently?**" Stargazer huffs. "**No. The mirror still exists. And I think your allies know more about it than they are willing to tell you.**"

**o**

When Hui steps into the elevator, Ashton's assistant is already there.

"Morning," the assistant says, and goes back to scrolling through something on her phone.

Hui steps inside and lets the doors close.

There's a television in the elevator, set to a 24-hour news channel. Hui pays little attention to it—the current story is about some inexplicably prominent individual, recently convicted of killing his wife—until one of the captions catches her eye.

"'Second-degree murder'?"

"Hmm?" The assistant looks up from her phone. "Right. Mr. Ashton said you weren't from around here. It means the murder wasn't premeditated. Crime of passion."

"And that's somehow better?"

"Not 'better,' just... not as bad."

"But her death was pointless," Hui says. "It served no purpose."

Ashton's assistant shrugs. "I don't know what to tell you."

"A woman is dead for no reason because her husband couldn't control his anger," Hui says. "That doesn't disgust you?"

The assistant regards Hui with a calculating look. "It does," she says. "But probably not for the same reasons as you."

The doors open. Ashton's assistant takes a few long strides toward her desk before she says, loudly, "Excuse me!"

Kai glances up from where he's been sifting through the papers on the assistant's desk. "I'll be done in a moment, Miss..." Kai checks the nameplate on her desk. "... McCoy. Can I call you Lydia?"

The assistant crosses her arms. "No."

Hui says, "Kai, what are you doing?"

"Just a moment, Major." To the assistant, he says, "How long have you been with the company, Miss McCoy?"

"A few weeks," the assistant replies. "HR has my employment history on file if you need it. Please get away from my desk."

"And what about before that?" Kai asks. "Where did you grow up?"

"San Francisco," the assistant says, oddly defensive.

"Really? What hospital were you born in?" Kai steps out from behind the desk. "Who was your best friend when you were a child? The first person you fell in love with, what was their name?"

"Those are a _lot_ of personal questions," the assistant snaps. "Get away from my desk _now_, or I'm going to call security."

The corner of Kai's mouth quirks up. He nods and heads for the elevator.

Hui stops him. "What was _that_ about?"

"I'll be delivering my full report to you and the colonel shortly, Major," Kai replies. "Excuse me."

**o**

The war room is packed with agents, computers, monitors of every conceivable size, fans to keep the equipment—and personnel—from overheating, and dominated by a huge circular conference table. Derek stays standing next to Stiles at the table and makes sure not to touch anything.

"The _Cawthorne_," Stiles says, reading from his notebook. "Built by the British East India Company in 1781. Left Guangzhou in 1794, carrying a shipment of tea and silver, and was never seen or heard from again."

"Just to clarify," Director Lei says, from across the table, "we're interested in this ship _literally_ because a little bird told us?"

Da-Xia, sitting on the edge of the table, says, "Jingwei's father and Huang Di knew each other. She would've recognized Huang Di's magic aboard that ship."

Lei points at Da-Xia. "How did _she_ get in here? When did this operation turn into a Pixar movie?"

"If you'll let me finish," Stiles says, annoyed.

Lei sighs and rubs her temples. "Fine, go ahead."

"I managed to dig up the _Cawthorne_'s last cargo manifest," Stiles says. "She dropped off a shipment of opium in Guangzhou, but the buyers didn't have enough money to cover the whole thing. So the captain of the _Cawthorne_ accepted a number of family heirlooms in trade."

That gets Lei's attention. "Such as...?"

Stiles smirks and flips to the next page in his notebook. "Among other things, 'one jade pendant, edged in gold.'"

"Don't be so pleased with yourself," Lei says. "That description's pretty vague." But her fingernails tap restlessly on the tabletop, and her heart rate's up. She's excited.

"It's the best lead we've got," Stiles says.

There's silence for a few seconds as Lei stares into the middle distance, thinking. The _tap-tap-tap_ of her nails on the table slows to a stop.

"Okay," Lei says. "Cross-reference the _Cawthorne_'s projected course with known weather patterns and pirate activity. Hell, buy some time on a satellite while you're at it. I want every available agent on this."

"Director?"

An agent appears at Lei's elbow. Derek faintly recognizes her; Stiles introduced her as 'Heather' weeks ago, at the Lion's Head. She hands Lei a disposable cell phone.

Lei reads something off the phone's screen. Her mouth settles into a grim line. "Shit."

"What?" Stiles says. Lei tosses him the phone. Derek peeks at the screen over Stiles' shoulder. There's one new text message:

_Hide and seek_

Stiles' voice shakes as he says, "Is this from—?"

"Yeah," Lei says.

Derek says, "What's 'hide and seek' mean?"

"It's an SOS," Stiles says. "From our agent inside Ashton's company. Her cover's blown, or it's about to be." His fingers tighten around the phone. "Director, I'd like permission to go and get her."

"I appreciate that you and Agent Martin are close, Stilinski, but I'm not going to approve a one-man rescue op."

"We don't have time for anything bigger!"

"I'll go with him," Derek says. Stiles glances at him over his shoulder, but doesn't say anything.

Lei's gaze flicks between the two of them, then she nods. "All right. Keep the phone. She'll be able to contact you at that number. Get going."

Stiles strides out of the room, Derek beside him.

"You're not going to tell me I can't come?" Derek says.

"I've been reliably informed that my 'protective streak' is 'annoying,'" Stiles says, almost hitting Derek when his arms flail out to form air quotes. "Where'd you leave your car? You're driving."

**o**

It should not be this hard to find a giant bug in broad daylight.

Jackson already checked the lodge and cabins. Now he's wandering through the woods, hoping to track Da-Xia by scent, but he can't properly filter all the different forest smells. He has no idea how Derek does this.

There's a rustle in the leaves above him, and Da-Xia swings into view. She hangs upside-down, all four legs clinging to an overhanging branch, a headless cricket clasped between her hands.

"Hello," she says.

Jackson eyes the cricket with mild disgust. One of its legs is still twitching. "Lunch break?"

"Just a snack." Da-Xia takes another bite out of the cricket. "Did I interrupt your walk?"

"Actually, I was looking for you."

"Why?"

"I'm curious about something," Jackson says. Da-Xia stares at him expectantly, so he continues, "Every time you fight, you're up against things bigger and stronger than you are. They should crush you like—uh."

Da-Xia's face is hard to read, but Jackson would guess that she's amused. "Like a bug?"

"... Yeah. But they don't. Why not?"

"I'm stronger than I look," Da-Xia says. "And I use a big stick."

"That's it?"

"No." Da-Xia lets go of the branch and drops to the ground, landing on her feet. "Why do you want to know?"

Jackson lets out a breath. "Because I want to fight like you."

Da-Xia cocks her head to the side. "But you're a werewolf. You're strong, and fast, and—"

"—and I have no idea what I'm doing," Jackson snaps. "Derek taught the others all the werewolf tricks, but after I joined the pack, he just ignored me. If he won't teach me to defend myself, I have to find someone who will."

Da-Xia finishes the cricket in a few quick bites, chewing thoughtfully. Or at least doing something with her mouth-parts that _looks_ like chewing.

"Okay," she says.

**o**

At some point, someone decided the lodge needed a yoga studio. Polished wood panels line the walls, and there's a bank of windows off to one side, with a view of the forest. Da-Xia dug up an old punching bag and stand from somewhere. Compared to the rest of the room, it looks like a typewriter in an Apple store.

"You should probably warm up first," Da-Xia says. "Doesn't matter how, you just need to get the blood flowing."

Jackson rolls his shoulders and drops to the mats. Coach Finstock would have made him run laps, but Jackson prefers push-ups.

Da-Xia settles down near his head and watches him for a while. Eventually, she says, "Were you born a werewolf?"

"No," Jackson says.

"So you were bitten?"

"Not quite. Do you have to talk to me while I do this?"

"The Old Man used to make me talk while I practiced," Da-Xia says. "He said it helped train my lungs. Although I'm not sure I have lungs."

"The Old Man?"

"My teacher. But we're talking about you."

Jackson keeps his eyes focused on the floor between his hands.

"Did you choose to become a werewolf?" Da-Xia says.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"No," Da-Xia says. "I like the way I am."

"That must be nice," Jackson mutters.

He hears a series of quiet little _click_s as Da-Xia's mandibles flutter. "You chose to become a werewolf because you didn't like yourself?"

"I didn't say that."

"Yes, you did."

"I got used to things being a certain way," Jackson says. "I was the best athlete in the school. And then this kid. McCall. All of a sudden he was better than me. Because he was _cheating_."

"Because he was a werewolf."

"Yeah. And I figured if I was one too, then I wouldn't be second-best anymore."

"So you wanted to become a werewolf because you felt inadequate as a human. And now you want me to teach you to fight, because you feel inadequate as a werewolf?"

Jackson shoves himself up onto his knees, panting. "Does that mean you've changed your mind?"

"No," Da-Xia says. "But I'm not sure we're fixing the real problem."

**o**

For the last four hours, Hui's been sifting through data. It's the most relaxing thing she's done since passing through the gate. Like coming home again.

Tablet tucked under her arm, she walks into the gym, where Sha is giving a punching bag the beating of its life. She spots Hui and steps away from the bag.

"Find anything?" Sha says.

Hui hands her the tablet. Sha takes it in one hand while sipping from a water bottle.

"This is from the files we managed to download from the FDSI before they purged their database," Hui says as Sha pages through the documents on the tablet.

"Lycanthrope," Sha reads. "Colloquially known as 'werewolves.' Enhanced strength, speed, senses, metabolic efficiency, cellular regeneration..." There's grudging admiration in her voice. "So along with another guardian, we have _this_ to deal with." Her eyes narrow at the screen. "Who's this 'Derek Hale'?"

"I would guess he's the one we encountered in Alaska," Hui says. "He's an 'Alpha.' A pack leader."

The door opens. Kai says, "Colonel."

Sha's posture straightens. "Kai. What do you have for me?"

"A very well-constructed cover identity," Kai says, entering the room. "According to every digital record I can access, Lydia McCoy has led a largely unremarkable life for the last twenty-six years."

"Every _digital_ record," Sha says.

Kai nods. "I went looking for the hard copies. There aren't any."

"So it's the assistant," Hui says. "You're _absolutely_ sure?"

"Yes, Major."

**o**

When they arrive at Ashton's office, there's nobody sitting behind the assistant's desk.

Sha shoves the office door open. "Ashton!"

"Jesus Christ, _what?_" Ashton shouts back.

"Where's your assistant?"

"She's a little late getting back from her lunch break, I guess. Why do you care?"

Hui taps Sha on the shoulder. "Colonel. If I may."

Sha reluctantly steps aside.

Hui enters Ashton's office and says, "Mr. Ashton, all of your employees are required to use key-cards to move through the building, correct?"

"Yes," Ashton says, wary.

"And there's a record of where and when these key-cards are used? You have access to it?"

"I do."

"Could you tell us where Ms. McCoy's key-card was last used? Humor me."

Ashton brings up something on his monitor and scrolls through it for a few seconds. "It was last used to access the garage." He frowns. "That's not right, Lydia doesn't drive..."

Outside, Hui hears Sha say, "Kai, go after her. We'll assemble the team and follow. Do _not_ let her escape."

**o**

Derek's on Interstate 5, headed south, when the burner phone rings.

Stiles picks it up immediately. "Lydia?"

"_Stiles?"_

"We're your backup. Where are you?"

"_I just left Alameda,"_ Lydia says. _"Headed north."_

Stiles fumbles with the map. "God, I miss smartphones so much." After a few seconds, he says, "Okay, there's a truck stop near where the 505 meets the I-5. We'll meet you there."

"_Got it."_

"Be careful."

"_You, too."_

**o**

"Feet need to be further apart," Da-Xia says. She prods Jackson's foot, and he obediently shuffles it back.

"Your teacher," Jackson says, "was he like you?"

"No. He was a human. Keep your back straight."

"How'd you end up being his student?"

"Bend your knee more. Your stance needs to be lower." Da-Xia circles around him, assessing. "The Old Man found me in the garden when I was a nymph. _Lower_."

Jackson groans. "You realize this puts me at about nipple height."

"You're more stable this way," Da-Xia says.

"So what _are_ you?" Jackson asks.

"Uh." Da-Xia's antennae twitch back and forth. "That's a good question."

"You don't know?"

Da-Xia rotates Jackson's ankle. "I started out as a normal bug. And then I wasn't." She steps back and looks him up and down. "The Old Man lived on a mountain. There used to be a whole order up there, but after a while it was just him. He thought that maybe the universe made me into someone that could replace him once he was gone." She gives him one last look-over. "Okay, I think you've got it right. More or less. Now you need to hold this stance, and strike at the same time."

Jackson eyes the punching bag hanging in front of him. "So... what? Punch it?"

"Hit it with the heel of your hand. As hard as you can."

Jackson winds back and smacks his palm into the bag. The impact travels all the way up to his shoulder.

"Holy fuck!" he yelps. "Is it supposed to hurt like that?"

"It hurts worse when you do it wrong," Da-Xia says. "Don't hit it straight on. Come at it from an angle. Again."

Jackson grits his teeth and hits the bag again.

"Don't hold your breath. Exhale. Again."

"How many times do I have to do this?"

"Lots. Hitting someone _hurts_. We need to build up your pain tolerance. You heal faster, so your body should adapt faster." Da-Xia's hands flutter in the air for a moment. "I think. Anyway. Every move I teach you, you'll have to repeat. A lot."

"Until I can do them right?"

"Until you can do them tired, hurt, bloody. Because that's when you'll need them." Da-Xia nudges Jackson's foot back into its proper position. "Rotate your waist into the strike. It'll give you more power."

"My hand is starting to go numb."

"I know. Keep going until I tell you to stop."

**o**

There are two other vehicles in the truck stop parking lot: a beautifully-restored, cherry red Mustang convertible, and a black motorcycle, haphazardly propped up against a concrete divider.

Stiles can see Derek eyeing the motorcycle with suspicion as they get out of the car.

"What?" Stiles says.

"You go in," Derek replies. "I'm gonna have a look around, make sure there aren't any surprises waiting for us."

Derek walks away, circling around the back of the building. Stiles shrugs and shoulders through the door into the diner.

He hears a man's voice say, "Early twenties, long red hair..." and then trail off.

The guy talking to the waitress behind the counter turns, slowly. He's not a large man, but even under his jacket Stiles can tell he's athletic, wiry, quietly powerful like a coiled spring. He looks at Stiles the same way a hawk would look at a mouse.

"Oh, shit," Stiles says, and draws his gun at the same time the other guy does.

The waitress screams and backs away; if Stiles fires from this angle, he runs the risk of hitting her. He dives out of the way as his attacker's first shot shatters the glass door behind him.

Contrary to popular belief, overturned tables don't actually stop bullets. Stiles doesn't have any cover.

He's fucked.

A snarl rolls through the diner. Derek surges through the shattered door, grabbing the wrist of Stiles' assailant and twisting, hard. The gun hits the floor.

The other guy—Stiles recognizes him now, Lydia's report said he goes by the name 'Kai'—uses his other hand to smack Derek's head to the side; brings his feet up and kicks off Derek's chest, freeing his wrist and flipping backwards through the air.

Kai lands on top of the counter in a crouch and draws a knife from his belt.

Derek growls. His claws extend, and his fangs drop.

Kai launches himself at Derek.

A kick to the center of the chest knocks Derek back, into a table. Derek recovers quickly, slashing at Kai as he rises, shredding the material of his shirt and slicing a row of shallow cuts into his abdomen.

The two of them move almost too fast to follow. Stiles has never seen anyone fight a werewolf like this. Kai is in constant motion, whirling around Derek, just barely evading every swipe of Derek's claws.

The knife flashes out as Kai rains down a flurry of quick blows, but Derek easily blocks them, the cuts on his arms healing in a matter of seconds. Kai manages to land a cheap shot at Derek's face, scoring a deep line down his cheekbone, dangerously close to his eye.

Derek staggers, and Stiles sees Kai turn, his leg coming around for a kick.

Stiles yells, "Derek!"

Derek 's hand closes around Kai's ankle before the kick can land, fists his other hand in Kai's shirt, and tosses him across the room, through the window.

Lydia's voice rings out across the now-silent diner: "Stiles?"

She stands in the doorway at the back of the diner. Stiles runs to her, then hesitates at the last second. "Wait, prove it's really you."

"You cried when _The Brave and the Bold_ was canceled."

"... Okay." Stiles holsters his gun. "Where have you been?"

"Someone was following me. I went to the bathroom to buy some time." She scans the room. "Hi, Derek."

Derek looks up from where he's bent over, hands on his knees, and nods.

"We should—" Lydia freezes, spotting something outside. She yanks Stiles' gun from its holster and fires.

From where he'd been climbing back through the shattered window, Kai drops to the ground with a bullet hole in his head.

"As I was saying," Lydia says. "We should leave. More will be on the way."

**o**

When Lydia strides into the war room, every agent there drops into stunned silence.

Then the cheer goes up.

"Oh, _please_," Lydia groans, but Stiles knows that tone of annoyance she's putting on. That's her 'I'm secretly enjoying this' voice.

"All right, all right," Director Lei barks, circling around the conference table. "Shut up, get back to work." She approaches Lydia, smiling. "Good to have you back, Agent Martin."

"Why is everyone so happy?" Lydia asks, annoyed. "We've lost our source inside Ashton's company."

"Maybe," Lei concedes. "But we didn't lose _you_."

A faint smile sneaks onto Lydia's face, then disappears.

Lei nods in Stiles and Derek's direction. "Good job."

* * *

**Next: "The Cawthorne"**


	8. The Cawthorne

**Chapter Eight: "The Cawthorne"**

They find Kai's body lying in a nest of broken glass.

Hui stays by the truck with the twins, taking shelter from the wind. She sees Fang drop to her knees on the pavement, bent over a familiar, silver shape. Sha crouches next to her and puts a hand on Fang's shoulder. She says something to Fang; Hui is too far away to hear what it is.

Fang lifts the body easily, cradling it to her chest, and starts the walk back to the truck. There's a hole between Kai's eyes, surrounded by a spiderweb of fractures in his faceplate; Hui can't take her eyes off it.

"We need to get back to Ashton Towers," Sha says. "The authorities are probably on their way here. I'd rather not have to explain our presence to them."

Bao says, "We're not going after her?"

"Bao," Li warns.

Hui says, "He has a point, Colonel. To retreat at this point seems tactically unsound."

"'Tactically unsound'?" Sha raises an eyebrow. "By now, the agent will have reported to her superiors. The damage is done. She's no more valuable a target than any other FDSI agent."

"She has to pay for what she's done!" Bao snaps.

In a low, dark voice, Sha says, "Bao, are you suggesting what I think you are?"

Bao manages to stutter out a, "No, Colonel."

"Good." Sha steps in close. "Because if you were, then as your superior officer I'd be obligated to stop you. By any means necessary." She straightens, shoulders back. "Understood?"

Bao nods stiffly. "Yes, Colonel."

**o**

Stiles wakes up to the sun in his eyes and the oppressive heat that's settled over the cabin. Seriously, fuck August. And the heat isn't helped by the two-hundred-plus pounds of werewolf plastered against his back.

Derek stirs, and a wet mouth latches onto the back of Stiles' neck.

"You'd better be awake right now," Stiles says.

A huff of laughter tickles the hairs on Stiles' neck. The arm wrapped around Stiles' waist pulls him closer.

Stiles sighs and relaxes into Derek's hold. Considering he almost died yesterday, he figures he's earned the right to be lazy and let Derek do all the work.

Just as Derek starts to roll their hips together, there's a knock on the door. "Stiles!"

Derek groans. "Fuck."

"Lydia," Stiles says, "whatever it is you're here to tell me, I'm _sure_ it can wait."

"Stiles, get up. Greenberg thinks he's found the _Cawthorne_."

**o**

Agent Greenberg seems a little nervous about having the entire department—including Director Lei—breathing down his neck.

"Do all of you have to be standing so close?" he says.

"Greenberg," Lei says, that one word a nebulous threat.

Video captured from a drone pass starts playing on Greenberg's monitor. The drone circles around a tiny, crescent-shaped island and approaches the ancient wreck of a tall ship, sprawled in the shallows at the base of a sheer cliff. Greenberg hits 'pause' just as the drone's camera frames the faded name painted across the hull:

_CAWTHORNE_

"Where?" Lei says.

"About five hundred miles south of Midway Atoll," Greenberg says.

"No runway," Stiles observes. "Can we get our hands on a seaplane, maybe?"

"I wouldn't land a seaplane next to a wreck like that," Harley says. "It looks like it's about to fall apart if you breathe on it wrong."

"So we go in by boat?"

"Too slow," Lei says. "I want the last piece of the key in our possession _immediately_."

Derek says, "And what will you do with it then?"

"We lock it in the Vault," Lei says. "Or destroy it. Or shoot it into space. I don't really care, as long as we keep it out of Sha's hands. Permanently."

"I have a suggestion," Lydia says.

"Let's hear it."

Lydia leans over Greenberg's shoulder and brings up a map of Hawaii on his terminal. "There's an old private airfield here," she says, pointing to a small, unnamed island about a hundred and fifty miles east of where the _Cawthorne_ washed up. "It's been shut down for twenty years, but it could still serve as a base of operations. We move all our forces to the airfield, send a small retrieval team to the _Cawthorne_ by helicopter, then close ranks around the artifact and keep it safe until we can properly dispose of it."

Lei leans on the back of Greenberg's chair. "I like it."

"I'm sorry," Harley says, "did nobody hear me say that wreck's about to fall apart? Anyone who sets foot on that ship runs the risk of having it collapse on their head."

"I could do it," Derek says.

Everyone falls silent and stares at him.

"No, it makes sense," Stiles says. "Derek's got more agility and better reflexes than everyone else here. If anyone could navigate that wreck safely, it's him."

"All right," Lei says. "Hale's on the retrieval team."

**o**

Nature has spent the last twenty years reclaiming the airfield, and done so with a great deal of enthusiasm and dedication. All of the FDSI's equipment sits clustered in the one hangar that, out of all the buildings here, seemed the least likely to collapse at a moment's notice.

At the edge of the airfield, where the chain-link fence has been swallowed up by the forest, Da-Xia and Jackson practice blocks. This mostly involves Jackson sweeping his arms in circular motions and getting smacked across the forearms a lot.

"No, no, _no_," Da-Xia says, exasperated. "Don't just _stop_ me. _Redirect_ the energy I'm putting into hitting you. And fix your stance. Your foot's drifting."

"What's the difference?" Jackson pants. Da-Xia whips her staff at him from the sides; he deflects the blows and grunts as he feels more bruises start to form. "I'm still blocking it, aren't I?"

"Yes, but you're putting too much energy into it." Da-Xia twirls the staff. "You need to outlast your opponent. Evade them, trap them. Don't act, react. Let them exhaust themselves until they reveal an opening, and then exploit it."

Blindingly fast, the staff cracks into Jackson's knee. He collapses.

"Oh! Sorry," Da-Xia says. "I thought you'd be able to block that one."

Jackson groans and sits up. "Can we take a break?"

"That's probably a good idea." Da-Xia puts the staff down, scuttles closer, and watches, fascinated, as the welts on Jackson's arms start to heal. "That really is incredible."

"Yeah," Jackson says.

After a moment, Da-Xia says, "Can I ask you about something?"

"What?"

"Your pack," she says. "I'm not sure I understand how it works."

Jackson shrugs. "Same as a regular wolf pack, I guess."

"Wolf packs usually consist of a mated pair and their offspring. It's a family." Da-Xia regards him, mandibles twitching. "Is that what it is for you? Family?"

"I don't know. Ask Derek."

"I don't think Derek likes talking to me," Da-Xia says. "He gets very sarcastic after a few minutes, and then he makes excuses so he can leave. Besides, Derek isn't here."

"So go ask literally any other member of the pack," Jackson says. "I'm the last person you want to talk to about this. I'm barely part of the pack as it is."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it's true." Jackson props his elbows up on his knees. "I'm only with them because otherwise I'd be alone. And a werewolf can't survive without a pack."

Da-Xia thinks on that for a little while. "But if you're stuck with them anyway, why isolate yourself? Why not make the effort to be part of the pack?"

"They _hate_ me, okay?" Jackson snaps.

"No, they don't."

"I made a mistake and almost got them all killed."

"I don't think they hate you," Da-Xia says. "They may not like you very much, but they decided to let you into their family. That means something, right?"

"I think my arms are healed," Jackson says abruptly.

Da-Xia sighs and picks up her staff. "All right."

**o**

"We'll be landing on the other side of the island, so we don't disturb the wreck," Stiles says, shouting so Derek can hear him over the noise of the helicopter. "You'll have to go the rest of the way on foot." He hands Derek an earpiece.

Derek reluctantly takes it. "I hate these things."

"I'll try not to yell in your ear too much," Stiles says. "We'll be in constant contact. I've got the _Cawthorne_'s plans, so I'll be able to help you navigate through it."

Up in the cockpit, Harley yells, "Five minutes!"

"Good luck," Stiles says to Derek. "Don't die."

**o**

The run through the forest is easy. The climb down the cliff to the wreck is another matter entirely.

"_How's it going?"_ Stiles says.

"It's going." Derek tests an outcropping with this foot before putting his whole weight on it. It's too quiet out here. He doesn't want Stiles to stop talking, despite how distracting it is, so he adds, "You surprised me yesterday, with the director."

"_Why, because I didn't freak out at the thought of you crawling through an old derelict pirate ship?"_

"Something like that, only more tactful." Derek lets himself drop a few feet, using his claws to slow the fall. He lands on a thin ledge.

"_I've been trying to, uh, adjust my behavior in crisis situations,"_ Stiles says, and the way he recites it probably means Lydia suggested that exact wording. _"Which doesn't mean I don't freak out, it just means I freak out quietly and in private."_

"You don't need to worry about me," Derek says, edging sideways so he can reach a foothold. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm pretty hard to kill."

"_Yeah, rationally, I know that. But the rational part of my brain doesn't talk to the part of my brain where the The Fear lives. The Fear doesn't care that you're a werewolf, all it cares about is that you're the guy that finds me weird rare books and listens to me rant on the phone at 3 AM and kind of sucks at comebacks in a really adorable way, and if anything happened to you it would leave a fucking hole in my life and it would never go away." _There's a pause._ "Am I making any sense at all here? Because I don't think I am."_

"I think I get it," Derek says, gently.

Stiles sighs. _"I just kept seeing this scenario in my head. Where Sha or one of her buddies finds out that putting bullets into you won't work. And then they start experimenting."_

"I had a few nightmares like that," Derek says.

"_Yeah?"_

"Back when we first met. I was convinced I was going to wake up strapped to a lab bench."

"_Ouch."_

Derek takes a leap sideways and grabs another handhold. "The feeling's mutual, you know. I don't like the idea of you being in danger, either. And you're way more fragile than I am."

"_So what do we do about it?"_

"Treat each other like responsible adults?"

"_You see what I mean about the sucky comebacks?"_

**o**

The day goes on, and the sun beats down on the airfield like it's suddenly decided humans are a blight that must be seared off the face of the Earth. Stargazer appears from wherever he's been lurking and stretches out in the shade of the trees, looking oddly deflated in the heat. Da-Xia glances at him and calls for another break.

Jackson gratefully slumps against a tree trunk and examines the welts on his arms. "They don't look as bad this time."

"Your body's adapting," Da-Xia says. "Eventually, there won't be any marks at all."

Jackson prods at a particularly livid mark, winces, and says, "So when do I get to use the staff?"

Da-Xia blinks. "Um, never?"

"Seriously?"

"I had to train for ten years before the Old Man taught me to use this thing," Da-Xia says, hands twisting around the staff. "And only then because I needed it to compensate for my reach. What do you need weapons for, anyway? I'm already teaching you to kill a man with your bare hands."

It takes Jackson a second or two to process that. "What?"

Da-Xia freezes and looks worried. "I thought you knew."

"You've been teaching me to kill people?"

"If you were a human, the techniques I've taught you _might_ kill your opponent," Da-Xia explains carefully. "With your strength, you probably _will_ kill them."

"So that first palm strike you taught me..."

"**Is commonly delivered to the nose,"** Stargazer says, cracking one eye open. **"It can drive bone splinters up into the brain. The overhand strike is applied to the top of the head. ****There's a seam there, between skull plates. Hit it hard enough, and and the skull cracks. Front punches can crush the larynx or sternum, and then there's the soft tissue damage—"**

"Stop," Jackson chokes out. He remembers watching the Thessalian witch slit a man's throat, remembers the sick rush of power when she ordered him to kill Derek. "I don't want to kill anyone."

"Good," Da-Xia says. "I'd be worried if you did. Violence must always be your last resort." She sidles closer and pats the closest part of him she can reach, which turns out to be his foot. "Don't be afraid of your own power, Jackson. Respect it. Take responsibility for it. But if you fear it, then you have no control over it."

**o**

"I'm about to enter the aft section of the ship," Derek says as he approaches the wreck of the _Cawthorne_. There are enough rocks and pieces of debris scattered in the shallows that he can reach the ship without actually venturing into the water.

Derek's doesn't want to get wet if he can help it.

"_Ass section? What?"_

"Aft, Stiles. Aft. A-F-T."

"_I don't know what that means."_

Derek rolls his eyes. "All that reading you do, and none of it was ever on ships?"

"_Are you practicing your impersonation of Lydia? 'Cause I have to say, it's dead on."_

"I'm going in through the back," Derek says. "The part of the boat that isn't the front. Is that clear enough for you?"

"_Five by five, big guy."_

Derek shakes his head and edges through one of the many breaches in the hull, into the cargo hold. The smell of wet, rotting wood assaults his senses. It's low tide right now; at high tide, the ship must be almost completely submerged. Partially-intact crates and broken, shredded pieces litter the floor as far as he can see.

Stepping carefully, Derek navigates his way through the hold. The floor beneath him lets out a disconcerting groan.

He finds the chest under what's left of a tarp, near the ladder up to the next deck. It's mostly intact, although the metal fittings are so badly rusted that they start to crumble as soon as Derek touches them.

Derek rips the lock off and lifts the lid. Inside the chest are dozens of threadbare bags, filled with old, tarnished silver coins, but nothing else.

"Stiles, I found the silver, but not the artifacts."

"_Crap. Do you see anything else down there?"_

"Nothing but tea crates." Derek taps his fingers against the chest and looks up at the ladder. "Where's the captain's cabin from here?"

"_You think the captain had them?"_

"If I'd just picked up a bunch of valuable relics through dubious methods, I'd want them as close as possible."

"_Up the ladder to the next level, then there's a staircase up to the top floor. Top deck? Whatever. Once you're up there, head back towards the rear of the ship. Sorry, the 'aft.'"_

Derek can't help a small grin as he looks up at the ladder. "Smartass." He decides not to risk having the ladder collapse under him and jumps, grabbing the edge of the next floor and heaving himself up. The stairs look a little more stable, but Derek scales them two at a time just in case.

The deck looks like Swiss cheese, huge swathes of floor broken or rotted away. Derek can see the door to the captain's cabin on the far side.

He keeps to the edge, near the rail, where the deck is less likely to collapse and he'll have something to grab onto if it does. Halfway across, his foot punches through a floorboard. Derek lets out a surprised yell.

"_Derek?!"_

"I'm okay," Derek pants, carefully extracting his foot from the hole in the deck.

"'_Okay' as in 'false alarm,' or 'okay' as in 'I just fell through the floor and now there's a big piece of wood stuck through my leg'?"_

"The first one," Derek says. "Why would I say 'I'm okay' if I'd been impaled?"

"_I don't know! This is you we're talking about! You're stoic!"_

When Derek reaches the door, it's too swollen within its frame for Derek to open. He braces himself and tries to kick it down.

The door doesn't budge, but he does successfully put a foot-sized hole next to the doorknob. Derek is really glad Stiles isn't here to see this. He'd never hear the end of it.

By ripping away the wood around the hinges, he manages to get the door open enough to squeeze into the captain's cabin.

Derek's little sister Cora used to make him watch _The Goonies_ with her at least once a month. That kind of thing tends to have a damaging effect on one's imagination. Honestly, he'd been expecting to find the captain's skeleton slumped over the desk, the last piece of the key clutched in his hand.

However, the cabin is empty. No skeleton in sight.

There's another chest under the captain's desk. When Derek opens it, he finds a number of cloth-wrapped bundles. He grabs the smallest one and unwraps it.

Inside is a flat piece of jade, shaped like one-third of a disc, edged in gold.

"Stiles, I've got it."

The only answer he gets is static, and underneath that, something that sounds like... bagpipes?

"Stiles?"

**o**

"Derek?" Stiles taps the earpiece. Nothing but noise. "Come on, buddy, answer me."

Up in the cockpit, Harley says, "Oh, _fuck_."

"What?"

"Our communication frequency's being being jammed."

"_What?_" Stiles scrambles up into the cockpit. "By who?"

What passes overhead with an earsplitting roar could only barely be described as 'a helicopter.' It's a huge, black, heavy bird, the kind that the average person only sees in war movies.

A troop transport. And it's headed straight for the _Cawthorne_.

"I'll give you three guesses," Harley says.

**o**

The noise of the helicopter rips the air apart. Derek hisses in pain and covers his ears.

The_ Cawthorne_ shudders around him.

"Oh, great," Derek mutters, as the ship starts to collapse.

**o**

Stiles grabs his gun and some ammunition, slams the magazine home, and chambers the first round.

"I don't think they saw us," Harley says.

"They know we're here," Stiles replies. He holsters the gun. "They must have tapped into our communications somehow. We led them right to the last piece of the key." He slides the door open.

"Wait," Harley says. "Where are you going?"

"To get Derek." He hops down to the ground. "With any luck, we can sneak around however many troops Sha brought with her."

Harley starts to unbuckle her seatbelt. "I'll come with you."

"Stay here," Stiles says. "You're the getaway driver."

"Okay." Harley takes a calming breath. "Be careful."

Stiles nods and starts running.

The other helicopter landed at the top of the cliff. Stiles approaches quietly, careful to stay hidden.

He spots Colonel Sha, barking orders as the helicopter's rotors spin down. Her second-in-command is here, and the twins.

Wait.

Two of the original seven are dead, which means there should be five—

Stiles hears the _whoosh_ of displaced air just in time. He ducks; a fist hits the tree next to where his head used to be. It leaves a crater.

He flails and backs away. The big one—Fang, Lydia said her name is Fang—grins and advances on him.

Stiles draws his gun and raises it, finger on the trigger. Fang stops and goes still, eyes wide.

From behind, someone knocks his arm down. The gun goes off, but the bullet hits nothing but dirt. Fingers curled into claws hook under Stiles' chin, yanking his head back; Stiles yells in pain as he's dragged down. An arm curls around his throat.

"Drop the gun," says Colonel Sha, "or I'll break your neck."

**o**

Derek scales the cliff as quietly as he can, soaked to the bone and pissed off. He had to jump through a window and into the water to escape the collapsing ship.

As he approaches the top, he hears a woman say, "Who else is here?"

Derek peeks over the edge.

The twins stand closest to him, their backs to the cliff. Beyond them, near the helicopter, a tall, muscular woman has Stiles' arm twisted up behind his back, the other hand on his shoulder, keeping him on his knees.

Colonel Sha crouches in front of him, face-to-face.

"We know you're not alone," she says. "Tell me where the rest of your team is, and maybe this won't end in violence."

Stiles sets his jaw and glares at her, silently.

Derek lunges up the cliff and slashes his claws across the nearest twin's leg.

The twin screams and collapses. The other one rounds on Derek, reaching for his gun. Derek grabs that twin's arm, wrapping his other hand around his opponent's throat, claws out.

A sharp whistle splits the air.

Sha has a gun pointed at Stiles' head.

"Let him go," she says.

Derek snarls, fangs extending, and tightens his grip.

Sha cocks the hammer. "Now."

Reluctantly, Derek lets go.

To the twins, Sha says, "Move back." She turns her attention back to Derek. "You took something from the ship down there. Give it to me, and I won't shoot him."

Stiles looks up at Derek and frantically shakes his head.

For a second, Derek is _furious_. Sha thinks she can control him by threatening Stiles. She thinks Stiles is that weak. She thinks Derek's that _stupid_.

Then reality seeps in at the edges. He has to think clearly.

The gun is the main threat. It needs to be removed.

Derek sizes up the distance between himself and Sha. He can cross it in less than a second. All he needs is for her to take the gun off Stiles.

If he gives her what she wants, she won't have it for very long.

Derek reaches into his pocket and pulls out the piece of the key.

Stiles struggles against his captor's grip. "Don't!"

Less than a second.

Derek tosses the artifact to Sha. She catches it one-handed, lowering the gun.

He charges.

Sha turns the gun on him and fires.

* * *

**Next: "Charlie Foxtrot"**


	9. Charlie Foxtrot

**Notes:** Cursory beta and heckling by Dusty.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: "Charlie Foxtrot"**

Erica shoves her way past the agents guarding the hangar and shouts, "What happened?"

Agent Harlowe, Agent Martin, and Director Lei all stand clustered in the middle of the room, surrounded by a loose assembly of agents. Lei looks up, sees Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Jackson closing in, and says, "Someone get them out of here!"

Erica keeps shoving until she's face-to-face with the director. "What. Happened."

Harlowe turns to her and quietly says, "I'm sorry."

"They would've taken Stiles alive," Martin says. "They've been trying to get their hands on a live agent for weeks."

"Where's Derek?" Erica snaps.

Martin's face is blank when she says, "He might be dead."

"He's not dead," Boyd says. "If he were, we'd know."

Harlowe says, "Director, this is my fault. I should've gone with him, I should've—"

"Harlowe," Lei says briskly, "your attempts to fall on your sword are not fucking useful at the moment."

Across the room, someone yells, "Found them!"

A blonde woman pushes to the front of the crowd and hands Lei a printout. "Private flight out of Honolulu. They're headed for San Diego."

"Fuck," Lei says. "We'll never beat them there. Ideas?"

"We could call Homeland Security on them," Harlowe suggests. "Or the DEA."

"That would end badly," Martin says. "Anyone who confronts them at this point will be considered an enemy soldier. They'll be killed."

One of the agents in the crowd—Erica's heard the others call him 'Greenberg,' or, more accurately, 'fucking Greenberg,'—says, "I dunno, shoot the plane down?"

The room goes quiet. Lei rubs her thumb across her lip, contemplative.

Hastily, Greenberg adds, "Holy shit, I was_ joking_."

"They're all in one place," Lei says. "They've got all three pieces of the key."

Harlowe's jaw drops. "You can't seriously be considering this."

"What about Derek and Stiles?" Erica's heart races. There's an itch in her nail beds. "You'll kill them, too!"

Loudly, Lei says, "Didn't I tell you people to get them out of here?"

"Director," Martin says. "I know right now it seems like we don't have any other options, but we do."

There's some kind of silent communication in the look exchanged between Agent Martin and Director Lei.

So quietly that Erica's pretty sure Martin was supposed to be the only one who heard it, Lei says, "Get Shadow into position."

Martin nods and walks away.

**o**

The three pieces of the key lock together like the pieces of a puzzle.

Hui turns the jade disc over in her hands, running her fingers across the gold filigree. It's no bigger than her palm. Such an unassuming little thing.

Sha says, "Hui," and holds out a hand.

Hui gives the key back and says, "We're almost there."

"Almost." Sha tucks the key into an inside jacket pocket.

There's a knock on the door, and Fang enters. "Colonel," she says, and as an afterthought, "Major." She turns her attention back to Sha. "Li says Hale is waking up."

**o**

Derek regains consciousness in stages.

First, he becomes aware of a constant, low drone. Then, a dull, hot pain surrounding his wrists. He lifts his head; his mouth is dry, and there's a throbbing ache behind his eyes.

"Derek?"

Stiles sits across from him, one wrist cuffed to his seat. Derek tries to stand, but pain flares around his wrists; they've been tied to the armrests of his chair, the rope woven through with purple flowers.

Wolfsbane.

More details filter in. He's aboard an airplane; judging by the decor, it's a private jet.

Derek blinks, trying to clear his head. He feels hazy, weak, both from the pain and from the smell of the flowers. "What happened?"

"You got shot in the neck," Stiles says. "I think the bullet hit something important. You've been out for hours."

Derek looks Stiles over. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Stiles angles his head to the side, towards the door. The twins stand on either side of it. One of them has a bandage wrapped around his leg and won't stop glaring at Derek.

The door opens, and two women enter. The first is the one who had Stiles in her grip back on the island: tall, broad-shouldered, powerful. She sizes Derek up with interest, but not the kind Derek's used to. It isn't sexual. Derek can't quite parse it.

It takes him a while to really notice the second woman. All of Sha's soldiers look eerily similar, as if drawn from the same template, but even by those standards this one looks almost generic. She fades into the background.

The twins' posture straightens. One of them—the one who hasn't been trying to set Derek on fire with his brain—nods at the second woman and says, "Major. He's talking."

"Good," the Major says. "The Colonel wants to see him."

"What?" Stiles' heartbeat ramps up. "No, she doesn't. He doesn't know anything."

The other woman, the big one, walks towards Derek. "Let's not make this any more dramatic than it has to be," she says, kneeling. She unties the wolfsbane rope from around the chair's armrests, wrapping the two ends together so that Derek's wrists are bound in front of him. She stands, pulling Derek up with a hand around his bicep.

She and the Major take Derek into the next room and close the door behind them, muffling the sound of Stiles' rabbity heartbeat.

This room is smaller than the first, with two seats facing each other near the window. The woman leads Derek to one of the seats and pushes on his shoulder until he sits.

Then she and the Major walk through a second door, leaving him alone.

About a minute later that door opens again, and Colonel Sha strides across the room to sit across from him.

Sha eyes the rope around Derek's wrists as if it's personally offended her. She sets aside the tablet she's carrying and leans over to untie his wrists, setting the rope on a sidetable.

Derek's head starts to clear. He rubs his wrists and says, "What's to stop me from killing you?"

"The fact that I don't intend to kill you," Sha replies calmly. "And this room is secured. Kill me, and you're still stuck in a box. Why waste the energy?" She leans back in her seat, tugging the front of her jacket down to straighten it. "You know who I am?"

"Yes."

Sha nods and picks up the tablet. "Your name is Derek Hale. You were born November 8, 1988, in Beacon Hills, California. You're a lycanthrope, and an Alpha. Six years ago, a human named Kate Argent, working with several conspirators, set fire to your family's home. Ten of your relatives were killed, and one rendered comatose." She looks up at Derek. "Do I need to continue?"

"How'd you get that information?"

"It's in your FDSI dossier." Sha swipes her finger across the tablet's screen. "Accompanied by an extensive list of chemical agents that can be used against you, and a number of contingency plans in the event that the department needs to subdue or kill you. Most of them were authored by an 'Agent Stilinski.'"

Derek leans forward. "You're not the first person who's suggested that Stiles is going to turn on me."

"You're right, it was a cheap tactic." Sha sets the tablet aside again. "I was curious to see how you'd react."

"What do you _want?_"

"Huang Di's mirror," Sha says.

"I don't know where it is," Derek replies.

"No," Sha says, "but Agent Stilinski does."

Derek tries not to show any reaction. Sha watches him, a calculating look in her eye.

"The FDSI has Huang Di's mirror," she continues. "They're keeping it in a facility known as 'the Vault.'"

"You seem pretty sure of that."

"Well, as you've seen, we managed to acquire some of their records." Sha leans in, lacing her fingers together. "What we don't know is the Vault's location. Which is where Agent Stilinski comes in."

Derek can't keep the growl out of his voice when he says, "You're going to torture him?"

Sha shakes her head. "Torture is messy and unreliable. I don't use it."

"So how do you expect to get the information out of him?"

"Well, I'm hoping he'll tell you."

**o**

Hui walks to the door, reaches for the handle, pulls away, clenches her firsts, and paces back across the room.

From where she's lounging, Fang says, "She'll be fine, Major."

Hui paces back to the door. "You don't know that."

"Sha knows what she's doing," Fang says. "She's done it before. Aren't you the one who's always going on about 'trusting the chain of command'?"

"There's trusting the chain of command, and then there's letting your sister lock herself in a room with something that could tear her in half. Lengthwise."

"Major. With all due respect. Sit down before you wear a hole in the floor."

Hui sighs and slumps into a chair.

A few minutes go by in silence, and then Fang says, "If we can't get the werewolf onside, do you think Sha would let me fight him?"

Hui slowly turns her head to stare at Fang. "You can't be serious."

"I don't want to hurt him," Fang clarifies. She shrugs. "Just for fun."

"_Why?_"

"I want to see what happens."

Hui is still staring at her in confusion when the phone rings a minute later.

Only a few people have this number, and only one has reason to call right now. Hui answers the phone, puts it on speaker, and says, "Ashton."

"_Uh, Hui,"_ Ashton says. _"Hi. Is Sha there?"_

"The Colonel's currently occupied," Hui replies. "What do you need?"

"_I got your message and just wanted to confirm—"_

"Yes," Hui says with a sigh. "We have the last piece of the key. Which means we need you to do your part."

"_I'm working on it,"_ Ashton says. _"But you've got that agent, right?"_

"There's a good chance we won't be able to extract the information we need, Mr. Ashton. We're still relying on you to find the Vault."

"_Right. Of course. I'll get back to that. Uh. Bye."_

The call ends.

"You know what I'm looking forward to the most?" Fang says. "Not having to work with _him_ anymore."

**o**

Derek puts a carefully-constructed sneer on his face. "I think you're confused about what side I'm on."

"Every war has its defectors," Sha says. "You have more in common with us than you do with them."

"And you're trying to take over the world."

Sha sits up and leans on one elbow, looking out at the window. "Major Hui, my second, wanted to be here for this conversation. I decided against it." She looks back at Derek. "If the Major were here, she'd give you her prepared speech about 'shining the light of civilization' and 'bringing order to chaos.'"

"Which you're not going to do."

"No," Sha says. "Quite frankly, we're not here to 'shine the light of civilization.' We're here because the Empire has been at war for almost five thousand years, and we don't know how to stop. Our society functions around it. Our economy relies on it. If we don't keep fighting, keep conquering, then everything we've built will collapse."

Sha takes a breath and winds down, straightening her jacket again.

"Having said that," she adds, "this world _will_ be better off under the Empire's rule."

Derek gives her a look that, hopefully, communicates the fact that he thinks what she's just said is a load of horseshit.

"Well, it certainly won't be any _worse_." A look of disgust passes across Sha's face. "The government you serve uses drones to kill children and posthumously declares them to be enemy soldiers. Its laws only apply to those without the wealth or power to overrule them. Every nation on this planet has been constructed from a foundation of injustice, slavery, and genocide." She points at Derek. "Your own people are on the verge of extinction, Hale. Are you sure you're on the right side?"

Derek doesn't answer. He just glares.

"We'll talk again later," Sha says. She picks up the wolfsbane rope.

"If you get too close," Derek says, "they'll destroy the mirror. Just like they've destroyed everything else."

"They won't," Sha says, unconcerned. "They wouldn't dare. It's too valuable."

**o**

The airfield buzzes with activity, as everyone struggles to get their shit packed up and ready to go. Even from his spot deep in the woods, Jackson can hear them moving around, shouting to each other.

He's found a tree to practice on, although 'practice' implies more finesse than he's been applying. He keeps his head down and hammers his fists into the tree. Some of the blows are actually proper strikes. Most of them are just clumsy, frustrated punches.

It hurts, but the pain is a good distraction.

He hears someone moving around behind him.

"What?" Jackson grits out.

"Just wondering where you went," Boyd says.

"Well, now you know," Jackson says.

Boyd says, "They're almost ready to leave."

Jackson exhales loudly and steps away from the tree. His hands ache. "Fine. Let's go."

Boyd's the kind of guy who prefers to keep his thoughts inside his own head, which is why Jackson's surprised when he turns around and Boyd's looking at him like he's worried Jackson has brain damage.

"What?" Jackson says.

"Your hands."

Jackson looks down. "It's fine, they'll heal."

"Not properly, if you leave them like that." Boyd lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Sit down."

"But—"

"Just do it."

Hesitantly, Jackson sits on a fallen tree. Boyd sits next to him and grabs his wrist.

He pushes something back into place, and Jackson yelps, "Holy _shit_—"

"It'll be worse if I don't fix it now," Boyd says patiently.

Jackson grits his teeth and breathes through his nose as Boyd finishes setting the breaks and holds them in place while they heal.

He lets go of Jackson's left hand and moves on to the right. In the moment between, Jackson says, "How are you so calm right now?"

Isaac might follow Derek around like a duckling, and Erica gets indulged the most, but it's Boyd that Derek is closest to. They have some kind of bonding-through-mutual-silence thing that Jackson can't even pretend to understand. If anyone has the right to be freaking out about Derek, it's Boyd.

Boyd shrugs. "Wouldn't change much if I weren't," he says. "Besides, _somebody's_ got to keep their shit together. Might as well be me."

He starts working on Jackson's right hand, and Jackson manages not to yell this time.

Unprompted—which is a fucking rarity—Boyd adds, "Sometimes you just have to wait things out. Save your energy for when you can actually _do_ something."

He lets go of Jackson's hand and stands. Jackson flexes his fingers.

"Hey, Boyd?" he says, as Boyd walks away.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

**o**

There's no clock in here, and they took Stiles' phone. He has no idea how much time passes before they lead Derek back to his seat, but it feels like ages.

He wants to ask Derek what happened, if they hurt him, but the twins are still here, guarding the door, and Stiles can't speak freely in front of them.

That hasn't stopped him from being the most annoying POW in the history of human warfare, though.

"Are we there yet?" Stiles says loudly, complete with dramatic sigh, for the eighteenth time. He's been counting.

The twin with the wounded leg—he thinks this one's Bao—says, "_No_, shut _up_."

"How about now?"

Bao-or-maybe-Li rubs a hand over his face and turns to Li-or-maybe-Bao. "Can we knock him out? Please?"

"The Colonel said not to," Li-or-maybe-Bao replies.

Stiles can see Derek trying not to smile. At least _somebody_ thinks he's funny.

He waits for a few more minutes. Then:

"Are we there yet?"

"At least let me gag him," Bao groans.

The plane jolts. The world tilts a little.

They've begun their descent.

The door opens, and Major Hui pokes her head out. "Bao, Li. In here for a moment."

The twins step out. The door closes behind them.

"What happened in there?" Stiles says. He starts to test the cuff around his wrist. It isn't very tight; maybe he can slip it off. "Are you okay? Who do I need to kill?"

"I'm fine. She just asked me some questions." Derek hesitates. "About the Vault."

Stiles goes still. "Oh. Shit."

"We'll talk about it later," Derek says.

"Yeah, good idea." The cuff is just that little bit too tight. Maybe if he dislocates his thumb—

"Stiles, stop."

"What?"

"Whatever it is you're thinking of doing, stop. The plane isn't even on the ground yet."

Stiles sighs and collapses back in his seat. "I can't just sit here and _wait_."

The door opens again. The twins move to flank Derek's seat, Fang with them. Colonel Sha approaches Li and hands him a dart. It's only then that Stiles notices the tranquilizer gun slung over Li's shoulder.

Sha says, "Only use this if you absolutely need to."

Then she crosses to Stiles' seat, uncuffs him from the chair, and cuffs his arms behind his back.

"You're with us, Agent Stilinski," she says, pushing him through the door.

**o**

Derek can smell the wolfsbane in the dart. It's a different strain than the one binding his wrists together. It won't keep him docile and weak. It'll just kill him. Fast.

He heard bits and pieces of Sha's orders: _We'll take Stilinski out first. Deplane once we're clear. The vans are waiting. We'll meet at the second plane. Radio silence unless it's an emergency._

The twins stand on either side of him, as Fang paces around the cabin, waiting for the signal. Derek's hands are bound in front of him again. He conserves his energy, trying to concentrate, consider his options.

Something oscillates at the uppermost register of his hearing, on the frequencies that humans can't hear. It resolves into a voice: _"Heeeey, Derek."_

Weird. He shouldn't be hallucinating.

"_Cavalry's on its way,"_ the voice says, and no, he's not hallucinating. It sounds like it's coming over the intercom. _"Get ready to move in three... two... one..."_

The lights go out.

The wolfsbane dart is the biggest threat. Derek lashes out with his elbow, aiming high.

His control's been sitting on a knife-edge for hours. All in one second, it tips.

He hits Li much harder than he'd meant to. There's a _crash_, and underneath it, a quiet _snap_. Li's heartbeat stutters to a halt.

Derek bends, plants a foot on the knot between his wrists, and pulls, dragging the rope down and off. It takes skin with it. He doesn't care.

He drops to all fours and lets the change come over him.

**o**

They're loading Stiles into the back of a van when a muffled, enraged howl echoes from inside the plane.

Stiles can't help grinning.

Hui gives Sha a silent, questioning look.

"Drive," Sha says. Hui nods and climbs into the driver's seat.

The van peels off, back doors still open.

An indistinct black shape leaps down from the plane and charges after the van, getting closer every second.

"Can he catch us?" Sha says. She almost looks nervous.

Stiles shrugs as best he can with his hands behind his back. "Maybe. We never did speed tests."

Really, he can't be blamed for enjoying this a little.

Sha braces a foot against the bench Stiles is sitting on and draws her gun, aiming at Derek. She exhales, her hand steadies, she starts to squeeze the trigger—

Stiles kicks her in the leg.

Sha swears in her native tongue and slips. Her shot misses Derek by a wide margin.

Derek is close enough now that Stiles can see the red glow of his eyes.

Stiles is half-deaf from gunfire in an enclosed space, but he can still hear the distinctive _bang_ of a tire blowing out. Twice. The van swerves—Stiles winces at the sound of bare rims on cement—and slows.

Sha holsters the gun and says, "Major. Stop and get clear."

Up in the driver's seat, Hui says, "Uh, Colonel?"

"Do it."

The van skids to a halt. Sha hops down to the tarmac. Stiles hears the driver-side door open.

"Come on," Sha says.

"What about—"

"Leave him!"

"That's cool!" Stiles yells after them. "Don't bother to uncuff me or anything!"

Before long, a huge mass of muscle and black fur leaps into the back of the van. The suspension groans under the weight. Derek snuffles around Stiles' neck and chest, as if checking his vitals, then puts his head into the small of Stiles' back and pushes him out of the van.

Stiles lands on his ass. His balance isn't so hot when he's got his hands cuffed.

There are arrows sticking out of the van's left-side tires.

A shadow passes over him. "Where's the key?"

Stiles squints. "Allison?"

Allison repeats, "Where is it?"

"I think Sha's got it," Stiles says. He cranes his neck around, and spots Sha and Hui, hundreds of yards away. "Jesus, they're fast."

Allison draws her bow.

**o**

Hui stops in the shade of a storage shed to catch her breath. She spots movement; someone's standing next to the van, and whoever it is has a bow.

"Sha?"

Sha says, "They'll never hit us at this distance."

An arrow whistles past Sha's ear and punches through the metal sheeting behind her.

Without any change in tone or expression, Sha says, "Get to the terminal."

**o**

Allison lowers her bow. "Damn."

"Little help?"

Stiles has managed to lever himself up onto his knees, as Derek tugs at the handcuffs with his teeth. Ineffectively, because there's certain things even an Alpha can't do without the proper leverage. Stiles nudges Derek in the head with an elbow. "Seriously, dude, stop. It's starting to hurt."

A low whine escapes Derek's throat, and he lets go of the handcuffs in favor of circling around and pushing his face into Stiles' stomach.

Stiles has never seen Derek like this. He's probably still a little stoned from the wolfsbane.

"Sha's my priority," Allison says. She slings her bow across her back.

"Don't go after her," Stiles says, as sternly as he can with a werewolf's head pushing on his diaphragm. "She's headed for the terminal. Too many civilians."

"She's escaping with the key!"

"And she'll still do that if you try to stop her," Stiles says. "The only difference being, you'll be dead and a lot of other people might get hurt. We'll get another chance."

Allison chews on her lip and lets out a frustrated noise. She turns back to Stiles, pulling a lockpick case out of her pocket.

**o**

Hui and Sha manage to get a good enough look at two guards to borrow their shapes. It's not the most artful shapeshift Hui's ever done, but it's enough to get them through a service entrance and into the terminal.

They've reassumed their usual forms and taken shelter in the relative safety of the crowd when Sha's radio crackles. _"Sha, this is Fang!"_

"Fang, this is Sha. What happened?"

"_Li's dead,"_ Fang says, all in a rush. _"Bao took the dart gun—I think he's going to—"_

Sha's expression hardens. Voice neutral, hollow, she says, "Where is he, Fang?"

"_He said something about the roof."_

Sha takes off running for the nearest staircase. The slumped form of a guard has been used to prop the door open. Hui checks his pulse: unconscious, but not dead. There's still hope.

Hui blinks in the harsh sunlight as Sha opens the door to the roof. She hangs back and watches Sha approach the figure crouched at the roof's edge.

"Colonel," Bao says without looking up. He's got the rifle braced against his shoulder, muzzle moving slightly as he tracks something on the ground.

Sha says, "Stand down, Bao."

"He killed my brother," Bao growls. "My _brother_, Colonel. He deserves this."

"We're clear, Bao," Sha says, taking a few steps closer. "Hale's not a threat. Killing him serves no purpose."

Bao's grip on the rifle tightens. "I don't care."

Sha draws her gun. Levels it at Bao. "_Don't_."

Bao looks back at her for a moment. Then he sights down the scope and puts his finger on the trigger.

**o**

The second cuff opens with a soft _click_.

"There," Allison says. "Let's—"

_Bang_.

Stiles' heart skips a few beats. That was a _gunshot_. He scans the tarmac, then has the presence of mind to look up.

He can just make out the shape of a silvery figure on the roof as it topples over and plummets to the ground. The person behind it stands there for a moment, looking down at them, and then it walks away.

**o**

Allison leads them on a complicated route through back alleys and passages that may not, technically, be intended for civilian use until they reach a parking garage. She opens the trunk of a gray Kia sedan and pulls out a duffle bag, tossing it at Derek's feet. Derek unzips it with his teeth, shoves his muzzle inside, and delicately extracts a pair of sweatpants.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Stiles says, as Derek starts to shift back to human form. "How do you know about the key?"

"Can't tell you," Allison says.

So this is what being out of the loop feels like. Stiles isn't enjoying it.

"Does your dad know you're here?" Stiles says. "Or Scott?"

"I'm not here," Allison replies smoothly. She tosses Stiles the car keys. "Once the FDSI gets back to the mainland, they'll be meeting at the safe house in Carson City."

Then Allison turns and walks away, disappearing down a stairwell.

Derek, now back on two legs and (slightly) clothed, looks at the keys in Stiles' hand, then at the car, then at Stiles. He raises his eyebrows.

"Oh, for—" Stiles says, with sudden realization. In the direction of the stairwell, he shouts, "You expect me to drive to Nevada in a Kia?!"

* * *

**Next: "Plausible Deniability"**


	10. Plausible Deniability

**Notes: **Cursory beta, angry yelling, and death threats by Dusty. Sorry, bro.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: "Plausible Deniability"**

Derek wakes up with his head pressed against the car window and an agonizing crick in his neck.

He groans and stretches as much as he can in the passenger seat. There's a smudge on the glass from where he'd been resting his forehead.

"It's _aliiiive_," Stiles intones from the driver's seat. "Just in time, too. We're about an hour from Carson City."

Derek blinks at the clock. "I was supposed to take over driving four hours ago."

"It's fine. You need the rest more than I do." Stiles' gaze flicks from the road to Derek. "Feeling any better?"

"I feel like shit," Derek groans. "Remind me never to sleep in a car again."

"Never sleep in a car ever again," Stiles says. "That's not what I meant, though. You've been in a weird mood ever since we left San Diego."

Derek tips his head back against the seat and swallows. His mouth is dry. "Yeah."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not in the car," Derek says. "Later. When there's time."

**o**

Early in the century, a bright-eyed young property developer with dreams of greatness bought this warehouse and began the process of converting it into a modern, fashionable apartment complex.

As happens to many bright-eyed young property developers with dreams of greatness, he promptly went bankrupt.

The half-converted building sat in limbo for years, until the FDSI bought it through a dummy corporation and quietly renovated it just enough that it could serve as a safehouse, should the need arise.

In a relatively secluded part of the building, between bare concrete support columns and wall frames without any actual walls attached, Jackson and Da-Xia cool down from a long, brutal sparring session.

"How'd I do?" Jackson asks.

"You've made amazing progress," Da-Xia replies. "You're still moving around too much, though."

"I thought I was supposed to 'evade.'"

"Yes, 'evade.' Not 'dive out of the way.'" She studies him, antennae twitching thoughtfully. "There's something else. Something wrong with your stance. I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Well, that's helpful."

"Give me time to think about it."

There's a commotion near the front of the building. Jackson hears a car pulling in.

Da-Xia says, "Is something wrong?"

After a moment, Jackson says, "Derek and Stiles are back."

**o**

"Derek!"

Erica collides with his chest, wrapping her arms around him. Derek stumbles, both from the impact and out of surprise. The pack aren't usually this physically affectionate towards him.

The others approach. Boyd nods at him and asks, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Derek says. "Aside from the fact that I'm being crushed to death."

Erica lets go and backs off, punching him hard in the arm. _That's _more familiar. "See what happens when you leave us behind?"

Off to the side, Stiles and Lydia are conversing quietly. Derek hears Lydia say, "The director wants to see you. Both of you."

**o**

The first words out of Stiles' mouth as he and Derek cross the threshold into the war room are, "Let me guess, you want me to tell you how we escaped."

"No," Director Lei says, "I want you to tell me you still have the last piece of the key."

The glib tone drops abruptly out of Stiles' voice. "Sorry, boss. Sha has it."

Lei exhales loudly through her nose. "Well. Shit."

"It gets worse," Derek says. "Sha knows you have Huang Di's mirror. And she knows it's being kept in something called 'the Vault.'"

Lei freezes. Slowly, she says, "Does she know where the Vault _is?_"

"Not yet," Derek says, "but she's looking for it. You need to move the mirror."

"We can't," Stiles says. "Huang Di's mirror is the size of a room. The Vault was built around it."

The director barks out a sharp, "Stilinski!"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Director, I really don't think his security clearance matters at this point. The cat's out of the bag."

Derek says, "If you can't move the mirror, you need to destroy it."

Simultaneously, both Lydia and the director say, "Absolutely not."

Derek says, "Why the hell not?"

"One," Lei says, counting off on her fingers, "because the energy required to do so would leave a crater the size of Yankee Stadium, which is a problem because two, the Vault is our last functioning research facility, but that's all irrelevant because three, almost all of our information on the Bleed and the multiverse has come from studying that mirror. It is an invaluable asset to this department. Destroying it is out of the question."

"So what do we do?" Stiles says. "Sit and wait for Sha to find the Vault?"

"No."

The director goes quiet, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn down.

"No. I'm tired of hiding, and I'm tired of waiting." To the room, Lei says, "I want everyone looking into Sha, Ashton and any of their associates. I want to know what they're doing, who they're talking to, what they're buying. Find me something to hit."

**o**

This plane is smaller than the previous one. But, Hui reflects, they don't need to go as far, and there's only three of them now.

Hui finds Sha curled up in a chair by the window, one knee up, the other stretched out in front of her. She's toying with the key: turning it over and over, running her fingers along the edge.

"Is it really safe to have that with you?" Hui says.

"Safer than it would be if I left it with Ashton," Sha replies. She sounds detached, distracted.

Hui sits across from her. "What's wrong?"

Sha looks at her; shifts so that both feet are planted on the ground. "Bao," she says, and lets it hang between them.

"You did the right thing," Hui says.

"Did I?"

"He was about to do something terrible," Hui says. "You stopped him. You _saved_ him. I would have done the same thing, if you weren't there."

Quietly, Sha says, "What if it were me?"

"What?"

"If it were me," Sha says. "If I were about to kill someone, for no other reason than that I hated them and wanted them dead... would you stop me?"

Hui is silent for a long time.

"Yes," she finally says.

"Promise?"

**o**

Out behind the warehouse-turned-apartment-complex is a badly-overgrown yard, surrounded by a high brick wall. Clearly, at some point, it was meant to be a garden or courtyard of some kind, but that plan got mothballed years ago.

Stiles steps out into the open air and spots someone sitting on a bench near the wall.

"Derek?"

"**Quiet.**"

Stiles yelps in surprise and turns. Stargazer sits in the corner of the yard, still as a statue. Between his forelegs, close to his chest, lies a small green shape: Da-Xia, asleep. Every once in a while a leg or antenna twitches.

Stargazer gestures to her with his chin and gives Stiles a meaningful look.

"Sorry," Stiles whispers. He crosses the yard to stand in front of the bench, and Derek, who's leaning on his elbows, head down.

Derek says, "Hey."

"Hey," Stiles replies. He sits next to Derek on the bench. "You want to talk now?"

A few seconds tick by in silence.

Derek says, "I killed one of them."

"Yeah," Stiles says.

"It was an accident," Derek continues. "I just wanted him out of the way, but the wolfsbane had me off-balance, and you..." he trails off. "I don't lose control like that."

Stiles keeps forgetting that Derek hasn't actually killed that many people. That night at the Hale house, when Derek ripped Peter's heart out, there was a sick, broken expression on his face.

He reaches up and puts a hand on the back of Derek's neck, then slides it higher into his hair, running his fingers gently across Derek's scalp in meaningless patterns. Stiles' mom used to do this, when he was little, in the middle of the night when he was too wound up and couldn't calm down.

Derek lets out a sigh. The tension in his shoulders starts to fade, a little, and he turns into Stiles' body, nuzzling up against his neck.

"The lie everyone likes to tell is, 'it doesn't get any easier,'" Stiles says. "But it does. After a while... it stops mattering so much. You get used to it."

"I'm not sure I want to," Derek says.

"**You'll have to.**"

Stiles jumps. That must be the quietest Stargazer's voice gets. "Nobody asked you," he snaps.

"**I'm simply stating facts.**" Stargazer gives him a disdainful sniff. "**Get used to killing, Alpha. This war only ends when Sha and every last one of her soldiers are dead.**"

**o**

The new war room is much, much smaller than the last one. Someone behind Derek keeps breathing through their mouth.

"Michael Ashton's been stockpiling arms for months," Lydia says. "I assume in preparation for an attack on the Vault. He's been bringing them into the country in small shipments, through ports all along both coasts, and then moving them by rail to a warehouse in Denver."

Puzzled, Harley says, "What's in Denver?"

"Nothing," Lydia replies. "That's the point."

Director Lei says, "What are you thinking, Martin?"

"Well, if you want to give Sha and Ashton a good kick in the teeth, I'd suggest we confiscate the stockpile."

Lei crosses her arms. "As much as I'd enjoy that, we don't have the manpower to raid a heavily-guarded warehouse."

"I agree," Lydia says. "But we won't have to. I got a message from one of my contacts in Denver. Ashton's moving the stockpile."

"Where to?"

"I don't know. Probably somewhere just as heavily-guarded, if not more so."

"So we grab it en route," Lei says. "Who's up to speed on the finer points of train robbery?"

Stiles snaps to attention like a dog who's just heard someone say the word 'park.'

He says, "I have been preparing for this moment my entire life."

**o**

The train station is just crowded enough that Hui feels the need to stick close to Sha. Fang breaks a path ahead of them, the strap of a weapon case slung over her shoulder. The people in her way tend to take one look at her and suddenly realize they need to be somewhere else.

"I was talking to the mercenaries earlier," Fang says idly. "They call this kind of mission a 'milk run.'"

In a tone that suggests only half her attention is devoted to this conversation, Sha replies, "Why's that?"

"From what I can tell, the term has something to do with fetching provisions," Fang says. "A 'milk run' is an errand. A boring one."

Sha says, "I don't care if you're bored, as long as you're alive." She nods at the weapon case Fang is carrying. "What's that?"

"A Barrett M82 anti-materiel rifle," Fang says proudly, hitching the case higher onto her shoulder.

"Why are you bringing an anti-tank rifle on a 'milk run,' Fang?"

"Can't be too careful, Colonel," Fang says. "Especially with another guardian after us. Remember how hard it was to kill the first one?"

**o**

The train leaves Denver and rolls west, into the mountains. The roads, buildings, and power lines gradually drop away, until the only sign of human civilization is the twisting black iron band of the railroad.

As the sun starts to set, a helicopter pulls up alongside the train.

It stops just a few feet above the roof of a passenger car near the end of the train, keeping pace. The hatch slides open.

"This plan sucks," Stiles says, yelling to be heard over the rotors and the wind.

Derek moves to the open hatch, bracing himself. "In the five minutes since the last time you said that, have you come up with a _better_ plan?"

"No," Stiles replies, with a defeated sigh.

Derek tenses and gets ready to jump.

"Wait!"

Derek turns, and Stiles grabs him by the shoulders, slamming their lips together. The kiss is fast, hungry, and after only a couple of seconds Stiles pulls back and says, "I love you. Good luck."

With a nod, Derek turns back around and leaps out of the helicopter, landing on the roof of the car.

**o**

Up at the front of the train, in the passenger car just behind the locomotive, Sha says, "Did you hear that?"

Hui says, "Hear what?"

A helicopter roars past, headed further up the track.

"Oh, that's not good," Fang says.

Hui opens a window and leans out. At the rear of the train, she sees a figure climb down from the roof and swing through a window into a passenger car. The car holding most of their guards.

"Someone just boarded the train," she says.

Fang says, "I'll take care of it." She drops the rifle case into Hui's arms. "Hold onto that for me, would you, Major?"

"Fang," Sha says.

Fang pauses at the door. "Yeah, Colonel?"

"I need you alive," Sha says. "Don't take any stupid risks. Report in every five minutes."

"Don't worry about me, Colonel," Fang says. "I'll be fine."

**o**

Derek slams the last guard's head against the wall. The guy drops to the floor, joining the other nine, all in various stages of unconsciousness.

The mercenaries can't fire in such close quarters, and it takes them a few precious seconds to switch gears from 'shoot this guy' to 'pistol-whip this guy.' Not that they have much of a chance, engaging a werewolf in hand-to-hand combat.

Derek slides the door open and leaps to the next car. Another passenger car, although this one's seats have been ripped out so it can serve as an impromptu boxcar. Crates line the walls.

He's halfway down the aisle when the door on the far side opens, and Fang steps through.

"Oh good, it's _you_," she says, and cracks her knuckles.

Derek decides to err on the side of smug bravado. "You really think you can beat me?" he says. "All by yourself?"

Fang says, "Let's find out," and charges towards him.

Derek growls and braces for her first strike, but Fang just barrels into him, her shoulder driving up under Derek's ribs.

They both hit the floor. Fang plants a knee on Derek's chest and hammers her fist into his nose. Derek feels it break. The second punch lands in his eye, the third aims for his throat—

Derek catches her wrist, squeezes, hears bone crack. Fang lets out a stifled grunt of pain. With his other hand, claws out, Derek goes for Fang's stomach. She grabs his arm, the tips of his claws less than an inch from her skin.

Gathering his strength, Derek surges up and throws Fang onto her back, pinning her.

She slams her forehead into his broken nose. Derek snarls at the sudden burst of pain; in that second of vulnerability, Fang levers her leg, still bent up against his chest, and tosses him across the train car.

Derek's back hits the door. It buckles under the impact. He rolls to his feet just in time for Fang to tackle him again, breaking the door down.

They land on a flatcar, the crates around them held down with tarps and straps. The track curves around the face of a mountain, sheer cliffs above and below. The train jolts; it sends them both flying.

Derek rolls up against a crate and hunkers down until the train stops shuddering. When he looks up, Fang is staggering to her feet on the far end of the platform.

She meets Derek's eyes and grins. "Come on. Show me what you can _really_ do."

Derek drags himself up and lunges at her.

Fang sidesteps him and elbows him in the neck, then delivers a swift kick to his kneecap. Derek lashes out with his claws; he scores a hit across her chest and another down the side of her face, deep gouges bleeding blue.

In response, Fang brings her knee up into his gut. When Derek doubles over, she cracks her elbow down on the back of his head.

The train hits a sharp curve. Derek, on the floor, digs his claws into the wood and holds on.

Fang isn't so lucky. She falls, scrabbling for something to hold onto as she tumbles toward the edge of the car.

When the train straightens out, Derek scrambles to the edge. Fang's holding onto the platform with one hand, has the barest grip on a tarp with the other; the rest of her hangs over empty air, the base of the cliff far, far below.

Fang looks up at him, and for the first time, she seems afraid.

Derek reaches for her, wraps his fingers around the hand holding onto the car.

The train jolts again. Fang's wrist slips out of his grip.

She falls.

**o**

"Fang, report in."

There's no answer.

Sha tries again. "Fang?"

Hui hears a distant noise, like someone sliding a door open.

Sha's expression hardens. She grabs Hui by the arm and drags her through the door into the locomotive; the mercenary driving the drain gives them a quizzical look, but says nothing.

Sha takes the rifle case from Hui, reaches into her pocket, and hands Hui the key.

"Keep this safe," she says.

Sha opens the case and starts to assemble the rifle.

**o**

One more car, and Derek will have reached the engine. He slides the door open, steps into the car—

An earsplitting _crack_ rips through the air. Derek ducks behind the nearest seat. A fine shower of wood splinters drift down from a fist-sized hole in the wall, just an inch above where his head used to be.

Sha peers around the edge of the door on the far side of the car and shouts, "Did you really expect to take this train by yourself?"

"Actually," Derek replies evenly, "I'm just the distraction."

And then something slams into the side of the train.

**o**

In this, as in many things, Hollywood is full of lies.

Contrary to what the movies tell you, the most successful train robbers did _not_ ride alongside the train, leap onboard, hijack the engine, and rob the passengers at gunpoint.

The most successful train robbers simply derailed the train—usually, explosives were involved—scavenged the wreckage, and _then_ robbed any survivors at gunpoint.

If anyone had been watching Ashton's train from above, this is what they would have seen:

Stargazer, a three ton, ten foot tall unstoppable force consisting of two parts rage to one part stubborn intent, charges headfirst down the slope of the mountain, towards the railroad and the approaching train. He hits the join between the locomotive and the first car.

The locomotive goes tumbling into the valley below. The rest of the train rolls and twists off the rails, hitting the ground on its side and sliding down, coming to a rest at the base of the slope.

And then all the agents who'd been lying in wait come swarming out of cover, toward the wrecked train.

**o**

"Derek!" Stiles shouts, scrambling over and around the wreckage as fast as he can. "Come on, you promised this wouldn't kill you! _Derek!_"

There's an answering groan from one of the fallen cars.

Stiles forces the door open as far as he can. Someone's curled up in the corner of the car, almost invisible in the dark.

"Derek?"

Another groan, and the form uncurls and blinks at Stiles. "Hey. I'm okay."

"You sure?"

Derek tries to stand and winces. "Scratch that. Broke some ribs. They'll heal."

Stiles helps Derek out of the car and gently lowers him to the grass.

"The plan still sucked," he says. "Even if it did work."

"Yeah, that sucked," Derek agrees.

**o**

Hui comes back to herself all in a rush; her right side is cold. And wet. She puts a hand on the ground to push up into a sitting position, and something goes _splash_.

She's been lying in a stream. She has a splitting headache, her ribs and back are both a variegated tapestry of pain, and she can't move the fingers of her other hand.

The engine lies on its roof about a dozen yards away. Hui can see Sha lying in its shadow. She isn't moving.

Hui manages to stand, wobbling a little. "Sha?"

Sha stirs.

Behind Hui comes the sound of something huge and heavy, pushing through the trees at high speed. A low growl rumbles through the valley.

Hui turns, and the guardian bursts out of the tree cover, teeth bared. It sniffs the air and fixates on her, snarling.

Her hand goes to the key in her pocket as she stumbles back. She checks over her shoulder; Sha's on her hands and knees. She locks eyes with Hui, then lunges for the rifle, lying on the ground a few feet away.

The guardian lowers its head and charges. Its hot breath washes over her—

The gunshot is deafening, even this far away.

**o**

The FDSI only has the one helicopter; they can't take everything. Jackson hefts another crate—this one looks like it's full of grenades—and carries it to the staging area.

Da-Xia's minding the pilfered cargo, perched atop one of the crates.

"I keep telling them I can help with the lifting," she tells Jackson, "but they don't believe me."

Jackson puts the crate down—gently, because grenades—and says, "Have you figured it out?"

"Hmm?"

"The flaw in my stance," Jackson says. "You said you needed to think about it."

Da-Xia nods. "I have a theory, but I'm not sure you'll like it."

"What's your theory?"

"You lack a solid base," Da-Xia says. "It leads you to break and flee when you shouldn't. But the problem isn't, strictly speaking, physical."

"So it's all in my head?"

"I'm trying to find the words." Da-Xia thinks quietly for a bit. "You feel like you don't belong. You don't have a solid place to stand. You need to find that. Somewhere to belong, something to defend. Until you do—"

The _crack_ of a rifle echoes through the cliffs, a roar of pain close on its heels.

"Stargazer," Da-Xia breathes. She leaps down from the crate and dashes into the woods.

There's another gunshot. And another. Jackson chases after her.

They find Stargazer lying on his side, slumped over a small stream. The water runs red.

Frantic, Da-Xia runs up to where Stargazer's head is resting on the ground. "What happened?!"

"**Sha,**" Stargazer growls. The words gurgle in his throat; his breathing is wet, labored. "**I had ****her. I **_**had**_** her.**"

His arm moves, and Jackson sees the three gaping holes in Stargazer's chest.

Da-Xia sees them too. She ducks under Stargazer's arm, pushing it aside, hands fluttering nervously over the wounds, afraid to touch. "You'll be okay. I can help. I just—I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do!"

"**There's nothing you can do. ****Leave it.**"

"I can't! You'll die!"

"**I know,**" Stargazer wheezes. "**I'm sorry.**"

It starts in his extremities. Parts of Stargazer's coat turn grey, harden; the grey parts join up and creep over his body like a frost.

Da-Xia's nervous energy seems to evaporate. She moves back to Stargazer's face, reaches out with one hand and pets his cheek.

"Okay," she says. "It's okay, old man."

"**I'm sorry,**" he says again. "**I failed.**"

Da-Xia shakes her head. "You didn't. I'll see it done. I promise."

"**Thank you.**" Stargazer's breathing slows. Quietly, he murmurs, "**Do you think I'll see her again?**"

Then he lets out one last, rattling breath and closes his eyes.

Da-Xia pulls her hand back as the flesh under it turns to stone.

All that remains is a statue of a wounded lion, high in the wilderness where no-one will ever see.

* * *

**Next: "Alea Iacta Est"**


	11. Alea Iacta Est

**Notes:** Beta by Dusty, who volunteered a lot of time to help me whip these next two chapters into shape. If they're awesome, it's because of her. If they suck, it's my fault.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: "Alea Iacta Est"**

There's a trough full of hard packed-earth on the roof of the building that was intended, years ago, to be a rooftop garden. When Jackson opens the roof access door, Da-Xia's standing in the trough, drawing patterns in the dirt with her feet.

She must have heard him arrive—the door isn't exactly quiet—but she doesn't acknowledge him.

Jackson doesn't even know how to start.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Da-Xia pauses, one leg hovering over a finished spiral. "What for?"

Jackson shrugs. "In general. It's a thing people say when someone dies."

"Oh." She lowers her leg and turns to look at Jackson. "Thank you."

Jackson is bad at this. He knows that. In third grade, when Danny cried because the other kids wouldn't stop picking on him, Jackson's solution was to punch the offenders in the mouth. Comforting people doesn't come naturally to him.

"Are you okay?" he says.

"I will be," Da-Xia says. "The Old Man used to say that suffering brings wisdom."

"Anybody who says that clearly hasn't met Derek Hale."

Da-Xia lets slip a quiet snicker. She looks down again and starts to trace a figure-eight in the dirt. "When the Old Man died, I built a pyre for him. I wish I'd been able to do that for Stargazer."

Jackson's run out of platitudes, so he leans back against the trough and watches the sun rise. The two of them settle into comfortable silence.

**o**

Hui stifles a scream when Sha sets her broken wrist.

Sha splints the break quickly and efficiently, then reaches out to hold Hui's other hand, squeezing tight.

"Come on," she says, and pulls Hui to her feet.

Sha's barely spoken since they escaped from the train wreck. She walks ahead of Hui, breaking a trail through the forest, fingers wrapped possessively around the strap of the rifle slung across her back.

They follow the stream until they find a river, and they follow the river until they find a road. They've been walking for hours, judging by the position of the sun, when a rusted pick-up truck pulls up next to them.

The driver rolls down a window and says, "You ladies all right?"

Sha tenses up, twisting the rifle strap. Hui puts a gentle hand on her arm and says, "There was an accident. Do you have a phone we could borrow?"

"No signal out here," the driver says apologetically. He leans over and opens the passenger-side door. "There's a gas station a few miles down the road. I'll give you a lift."

**o**

Director Lei leans over the conference table, the fingernails of both hands tapping intermittently on its surface. "You're telling me that Sha is _missing_?"

"Near as I can tell, Ashton hasn't heard from her since the train job," Lydia says.

Stiles says, "Is it too much to hope that she's dead?"

"Sha's not dead," Lydia says dismissively. "If Stargazer couldn't kill her, I doubt rural Utah will give her much trouble. But if she's MIA..."

"Then Ashton's vulnerable," Lei says. "We can cut Sha's support out from under her."

"Not just that," Lydia says. "If we take Ashton alive, we'll have all the information on Sha that we need."

Skeptical, Stiles says, "You think he'll turn on her that easily?"

"Michael Ashton may be many things, but 'resistant to interrogation' isn't one of them. He sided with Sha to fuel his own fantasies. He thinks they'll make him some kind of lord when the Empire takes over." Lydia's lips twist into a predatory smile. "He's in over his head. It won't take much to make him talk."

"Ashton's our priority, then," Lei says. "But we can't just roll up to his front door and arrest him. Too many guards."

"I'll come up with something," Lydia says.

Lei nods. "Get Stilinski to help you. I want your best idea in two hours."

**o**

Hui feeds the coins the cashier gave her into the payphone, punches in Ashton's personal number, and waits while it rings.

Sha leans against the side of the phone booth. She still hasn't let go of the rifle.

Finally, Ashton picks up. _"Who is this?"_

"It's Major Hui, Mr. Ashton."

"_Hui? Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to call you for—"_

"Our phones were destroyed," Hui interrupts. "The FDSI attacked the train. Fang—" She pauses, collecting her thoughts. "We're stuck out here."

"_I'll send someone to get you,"_ Ashton says. _"Listen, I've got a lead on the Vault."_

Hui's grip on the receiver tightens. "What kind of lead?"

"_I found some financial records. The FDSI's been sending money to some guy named Clifton Durham for the last eight years. It looks like he might've been one of the contractors hired to build the Vault. Injured on the job. I've sent some guys to go talk to him."_

**o**

Schematics and blueprints of Ashton Towers cover the conference table, scotch-taped together from computer printouts. The complex lives up to its name; the main tower is surrounded by three smaller ones, all of them connected on multiple floors by what Derek has been mentally referring to as 'hamster tubes.'

Lydia indicates the center of one blueprint. "Security in the main tower is ironclad. You need a key-card to even get past reception. With the right equipment, that won't be much of a hurdle, but there are also guards patrolling every floor." She uncaps a pen and circles one of the smaller towers. "However, the auxiliary towers aren't as heavily guarded. Most security is concentrated around the walkways into the main tower."

"The highest walkways are one floor below Ashton's office," Stiles says. "A small team could infiltrate one of the auxiliary towers and cross that walkway into the main tower."

"Bypassing most of Ashton's security," Director Lei says. She sounds impressed.

"Then we grab Ashton, sneak out the way we came in, and Robert's your father's brother." Stiles pauses. "This might legally be considered a kidnapping, by the way."

"I'll worry about that," Lei says. "Now, who are you talking about when you say 'we'?"

"Well, it's obviously up to you," Stiles says quickly, "but I have some recommendations as to who should be on the infiltration team."

"And those would be...?"

"Myself, Lydia, and Derek."

Lei shakes her head. "You can't pull this off with just three people." She stares down at the printouts. "Take Derek's pack with you."

Derek's head snaps up. He glares at the side of Lei's head. "Director," he says, "you agreed to keep my pack away from the front lines."

"I agreed to keep them 'as far as possible' from the front lines, Hale." Lei meets his eyes. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't give this order if we had any other choice, but we need them."

"They're teenagers," Stiles points out.

"Bulletproof teenagers who can lift small cars," Lei replies. "This isn't up for debate." She looks back down, eyebrows drawing together. "How do you plan to distract the security force in the main tower?"

"Uh." Stiles looks at Lydia, who shrugs. "We hadn't actually planned to do that."

"You'll need to," Lei says. "Ashton probably has a panic button."

Derek sees Lydia wince, although it's a tiny, almost imperceptible motion.

In slightly clipped tones, she says, "What do you recommend, Director?"

**o**

_Incident Report - August 23, 2012_

_Employee Name: Holloway, Andrew  
__Employee #: 226-187-674__  
_

_Began shift on front gate security detail at 0900._

_At approx. 1345, three vehicles arrived at front gate. Est. ~20 individuals. Apparent leader of group identified self as Miranda Lei, Director of Crisis Intervention, FDSI. Demanded that Michael Ashton report to front gate for questioning._

_Reported in to supervisor (Velasquez, Lyndon, employee #226-185-993). Was redirected to Ashton's personal line. Transcript follows:_

_Holloway: Sir, there's a Ms. Lei here to talk to you.  
__Ashton: What?  
__H: Miranda Lei, sir. She says she's Director of—  
__A: [expletive deleted]. [expletive deleted], mother of [indecipherable] [expletive deleted] [indecipherable]—do NOT let her through.  
__H: She has a badge, sir. I think they all have badges, actually.  
__A: Do they have a warrant?  
__H: I don't think so, sir.  
__A: Listen to me. The FDSI is currently operating without any legal authority. None whatsoever. Do you understand?  
__H: I think so, sir.  
__A: Keep them out of this building. By force, if necessary. I'm sending more personnel down to the gate.  
__H: Sir, I'm not sure that's necessary—  
__A: Yes, it is [expletive deleted] necessary!_

**o**

"Excuse me."

The guard, who up until this point has been picking dirt out from under his nails, looks up and sees a young woman walking down the hall towards him. Specifically, he notices the long, blonde hair and push-up bra.

"I don't think you're supposed to be up here," he says.

The girl smiles—brilliant white teeth, bright red lipstick—and keeps moving towards him. "I think I'm lost," she says.

The guard reaches for his radio.

Erica punches him in the stomach.

The guard doubles over, and Erica cracks her knee into his face. He goes down like a sack full of hammers.

Stiles peeks around the corner and says, "You are a terrifying little infant."

The rest of the team comes down the hall. Lydia holds a partially-cannibalized phone up to the key-card reader. The reader beeps, the light turns green, and Derek shoves the door to the walkway open.

"Once we're through," Lydia says, "it's up one flight of stairs, and we'll be right next to Ashton's office."

**o**

The plane's just taken off when Sha's newly-acquired phone rings.

She answers and puts it on speaker. "Ashton. Any news on the Vault?"

"_They're here."_ Ashton's frantic, speaking too loud into the phone. _"Sha, you have to help me."_

"What?"

"_The FDSI are here! Right now!"_

"Ashton," Hui says, "You assured us your complex was secure. You told me if they ever came after you, they'd have to lay siege to the building."

"_I didn't think they'd actually do it!"_

Sha says, "Do you or do you not have the location of the Vault?"

"_I have it,"_ Ashton says. _"The report just came in. But—"_

"Give me the coordinates."

Ashton rattles them off. Hui scribbles the numbers down and starts to memorize them.

"_Now,"_ Ashton says, _"help me."_

"What do you expect me to do, Ashton?" Sha says. "We're hours away."

"_I don't know! I think I can hold out, until—oh. Shit. Shit, shit, shit—"_

"Ashton?"

"_They're in the building. There's a team inside the building, they're one floor down—Sha, if they take me, you have to come get me."_

Sha rubs her eyes with one hand, then pinches the bridge of her nose. "I can't afford to spend time and resources on a rescue op to retrieve one man," she says. "One man incapable of handling something as simple as _securing his own headquarters. _It'll have to wait."

Panicked breathing down the line._ "If they take me, I'll tell them everything! __You need me, Sha!"_

Sha's face goes blank. There's a cold rage behind her eyes when she says, "I need your resources and connections. I never needed _you_. If you hadn't agreed to work with us, I would've had you killed and impersonated months ago."

"_No, no, you need me! You fucking need me!"_

"I really don't," Sha says. "Tell me, Ashton, are you in your office right now?"

"_What?"_ Ashton stammers. _"Yes, but—"_

"Goodbye, Ashton."

Sha hangs up on him and starts to dial another number.

Hui says, "What are you doing?"

"Something I learned from our opponents," Sha replies calmly. "Don't leave anything behind the enemy can use."

The phone rings once, and then picks up.

Sha dials 3-7-4 and says, "Remember Bao and Li's secret project?"

**o**

"Here," Lydia says, leading them down the hall and into a small lobby. The nameplate on the secretary's desk still reads, 'Lydia McCoy.' "Ashton's office is just through—"

The explosion could in no way be called a 'fireball.' Later, Erica will discover she's oddly disappointed about that.

The force of the blast shatters the double doors to Ashton's office. Stiles tackles Lydia out of the way. Derek, Erica, and the others dive in the opposite direction.

When Erica looks up, she can see right into what used to be Ashton's office. There's nothing left but rubble and blood. A lot of blood.

The floor shakes—

No, not the floor. Deeper.

**o**

Outside, this is what Director Lei, Andrew Holloway, and all the assembled guards and federal agents see:

On the top floor of the main tower, a row of windows shatter. Smoke and dust billow into the air.

Lower, near the base of the tower, a concussive force shakes the building. There's a noise: a deep, muffled _BOOM_.

The walls crack. The foundations groan.

"Oh, fuck," says Lei. "Back up! Everybody _back the fuck up!_"

**o**

There's no way they'll make it down to the ground floor in time.

Lydia leads them down one flight of stairs, shoves the door open, and says, "Walkway! Move!"

They turn the corner. The walkway's in sight, but there's a hole in the floor, blocking the way.

Lydia and Stiles jump across first; Derek and Boyd go next, then Isaac. The floor starts to crumble under Isaac's feet as he lands; Derek grabs him by the arm and pulls him to safety.

More of the floor collapses. It's too wide to jump, and Erica and Jackson are still on the wrong side.

The building shakes. Jackson locks eyes with Derek, his heart pounding so loud he can barely hear anything else.

"Get to the other walkway," Derek shouts. "Go!"

Erica grabs Jackson's wrist and drags him back down the hall.

She rips the card reader off the wall and breaks the door open. The walkway stretches ahead of them, and to Jackson it seems a mile long.

Something groans and gives way behind him. The whole building shudders.

Erica starts running, Jackson a few yards behind her, struggling to keep up.

He's about a third of the way across when the floor tilts. Jackson doesn't dare look back. He can hear the tower slowly collapsing behind him.

Erica snarls and keeps going, clawing her way up the steepening slope.

She knocks the door partially off its hinges and passes through to safety.

The metal struts bolting the walkway to the tower scream and shear. The walkway starts to tear free from its moorings.

Erica braces herself, wraps one hand around the door frame, denting metal—

—and with the other, she grabs one of the walkway's support struts.

Jackson keeps climbing, if only out of reflex, leaping between support struts, he's so _close—_

Erica roars. The walkway slips. Her feet scrabble on the floor, sliding toward the edge.

Jackson reaches the top. Erica lets go of the strut, grabs the back of his shirt.

The walkway rips loose and plummets, joining the rest of the rubble on the distant ground.

Erica pulls Jackson up and collapses next to him on the floor.

"Holy shit," Jackson wheezes.

Erica says, "Ow."

**o**

The FDSI regroups in an underground parking garage. Stiles has to resist the urge to call someone 'Deep Throat.'

Lei's voice booms through the space, echoing off concrete: "What the fuck was that?"

"Sha never trusted Ashton," Lydia says, rattling out the words like she's still turning the events of the last few hours over in her head. "Not fully. She must have planned to take him out if he ever became a liability."

"By rigging his building to explode?"

"She's very thorough."

Heather shouts, "Director!" and shoves her way through the crowd. She hands Lei a phone. "It's Heidingsfeld."

Lei grabs the phone and puts it to her ear. "Jason?"

Director Heidingsfeld is supposed to be in D.C., surrounded by bodyguards and denying any and all knowledge of the FDSI's whereabouts or activities.

Lei says, "Hang on," hits a button, and holds the phone out. "You're on speaker, Jason. What's your bad news?"

"_I just got a call from Margo Durham,"_ Heidingsfeld says. _"Her husband Clifton was one of the contractors who worked on the Vault."_

"Jason," Lei says, "I hope you're not about to say what I think you're about to say."

"_Someone broke into their home while Margo was out. Clifton Durham is in the hospital. There's signs of torture."_

The garage fills with a palpable, suffocating dread.

"Shit," Lei hisses. Stiles considers this a massive understatement. "Thanks for the warning." She hangs up.

Harley says, "We don't know for sure—"

Lydia interrupts, "We can't afford to wait until the contractor wakes up and ask him."

"You need to call the Vault," Derek says. "Warn them."

Stiles shakes his head. "We can't."

Lydia adds, "The Vault's been under communications blackout ever since Tian-Hou was hit. It's part of their emergency protocol."

Lei's still looking at the phone in her hand. "We need to fall back to the Vault. Shore up the defenses."

Stiles scans the garage. The crowd of agents in here suddenly seems painfully small. "We don't have the manpower to defend the Vault against a direct attack, boss. We never did."

Derek says, "Destroy the mirror."

Lei's head whips up and around. Her stare drills right through Derek and into the wall behind him. "Not an option."

Stiles says, "We might have enough time to evacuate."

"Not. An option," Lei repeats.

"It's the last thing Sha's expecting you to do," Derek says, stepping forward until he and Lei are only a few feet apart.

"Because it's _insane_." Lei jabs the phone at him. "The Vault is the only real asset we have left. If we destroy it, we destroy everything we've worked for over the last twelve years."

"If you destroy it, the war is over," Derek snaps. "You're not willing to sacrifice a _building_ to save _millions of lives?_"

Lei surges forward, face twisted into a furious snarl. "_You don't get to pull that shit with me, __Hale!_"

Stiles rushes in to separate them and hesitates.

"What were you doing on New Year's Day twelve years ago?" Lei bites out. "Playing video games? Having dinner with your family? Because _I _was watching my friends die. They trusted me to lead them, and I sent them to their deaths so the world wouldn't end. So _don't_ condescend to _me_ about sacrifice, you _dysfunctional, arrogant FNG_."

"Uh, boss," Stiles says, hovering uselessly, "I don't think you should get into a 'whose life sucks more' contest with—"

"_Shut up, Stilinski!_"

Derek's eyes flash red. He growls, the tips of his fangs visible.

Lei takes one big step back. Her hand flies to the holster on her belt.

Stiles yells, "Hey!" and shoves in between them, shielding Derek.

What follows is a silence so complete it's almost an invasive presence. Everyone's staring at them.

Lei closes her eyes. Inhales deeply through her nose.

She takes her hand off the gun, and her posture straightens. The director tugs on the sleeves of her jacket, smoothing them, and says, "Move out. We're evacuating the Vault."

**o**

In the barely-tamed chaos that follows, Stiles walks Derek back to the Camaro, the pack trailing behind them. Stiles' heart is pounding; Derek can hear it.

Derek says, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Stiles says. "There's just _way_ too much I need to take care of right now."

They stop by the car. Stiles grabs Derek, says, "God, you were hot back there," and drags him into a wet, open-mouthed kiss.

Derek hears Erica say, "Seriously?" but he ignores her, licking into Stiles' mouth instead.

Stiles pulls back, breathing a little erratic, and says, "Remember that motel you were staying at in San Francisco?"

"Yeah."

"I'll meet you there and take you to the rendezvous point." He kisses Derek again. "Okay?"

Derek nods.

"Good. I'll see you then. I have to—" he gestures vaguely, turns around, and jogs back the way they came.

His heart rate still hasn't gone down.

**o**

Sha walks back into the cabin, phone to her ear. "I just transferred the funds," she says, in a perfect mimicry of Michael Ashton's voice. "I'm sending the coordinates now. Be ready to move by 0600."

She hangs up, tosses the phone aside, and says in her own voice, "Done. You?"

"I've made the necessary purchases," Hui says. "They were even more expensive, on such short notice. We've more or less drained Ashton's accounts."

"He's not exactly in a position to complain, is he?"

"Sha?"

Sha doesn't say anything. Waits expectantly for Hui to speak.

Hui takes a breath. "Was killing Ashton really necessary?"

"... Yes." Sha collapses into the chair across from Hui. "He was a threat to the mission, Hui. If we fail—" Something wavers in her voice. She swallows. "If we fail, Fang died for nothing. And Bao. Li. Kai. Zhen."

Without much conviction, Hui says, "They died for the Empire."

"They died because we weren't good enough." Sha sets her jaw. "We're finishing this. Whatever it takes."

**o**

It's almost midnight, and Derek still hasn't heard from Stiles.

Isaac's asleep in the other bed; Boyd, Erica and Jackson may or may not be asleep in the next room, but either way they're quiet.

The phone on the nightstand rings; Isaac startles awake. Derek picks it up so fast he almost drops the receiver.

"Stiles?"

"_Hey."_

"Where are you?"

"_I'm, uh..."_ There's a pause. _"We're en route to the Vault."_

Fear sits like a lead weight in Derek's gut. "You said you'd—"

"_Yeah,"_ Stiles sighs. _"I lied."_

"Why?"

"_This next part is... it's kind of a last stand,"_ Stiles says. _"Sha's on her way. We don't have enough time."_

"I thought we weren't going to do this anymore," Derek says. "I thought you trusted me."

"_I do!"_ There's a shaky inhale. Almost a sob. _"I trust you. I love you. I can't let you follow me into a suicide mission."_

"Stiles," Derek says, struggling to stay calm, "just tell me where you are. I can—"

"_I'm sorry."_

"Stiles!"

The only answer is a dial tone.

* * *

**Next: "Alamo"**


	12. Alamo

**Chapter Twelve: "Alamo"**

Erica's truck weaves through some upscale residential district Jackson doesn't know the name of, blithely disregarding every stop sign and red light they come across since, this late, they're the only ones on the road.

Jackson curls up in the back seat with his phone, thumb hovering nervously over the 'send' button until eventually he presses it.

The phone rings for a while, and then a sleepy voice says, _"Hello?"_

"Hey, Dad," Jackson says.

"_Jackson?"_ His dad goes from nearly unconscious to fully awake in the time it takes him to say that one word. _"Are you all right?"_

"I'm fine," Jackson says.

It's quiet for a second, and then his dad says, _"We haven't heard from you in a while."_

"Sorry," Jackson says. "Been busy."

"_You'll be back in time for school to start, right?"_

"Yeah," Jackson lies. "Probably."

"_Okay,"_ his dad says. _"You know I trust you."_

"Yeah."

Jackson feels like he should tell his dad to be careful. That something bad might happen and he should keep his head down. But he doesn't know how to phrase it in a way that won't freak his parents out.

"_You want to talk to your mom?"_ his dad says. _"She's sleeping, but I could wake her up—"_

"No," Jackson says abruptly. "It's fine. I'll call some other time."

"_Okay."_ There's a pause. _"I love you."_

Jackson swallows thickly. "I know."

**o**

At almost two in the morning, the Camaro and Erica's truck pull up in front of a tall, thin, postmodern-looking house that's at least 80% glass and brushed steel.

Alex Tsao answers the door wearing a housecoat and an expression that suggests her patience is not just wearing thin but actually see-through in some places.

"I suppose you're here to ask me about the Vault, too," she says.

"'Too?'" Derek says. "Who else is here?"

Without a word, Alex turns and walks back down the hall, leaving the door open. Derek follows her, the pack at his heels.

He tracks her to a den of some kind. It's not the sort of room used to entertain company; all the furniture is old, well-used, and there are books and empty DVD cases piled everywhere. A huge TV has been crammed into the corner.

Da-Xia sits perched on the arm of a sofa, looking not unlike someone who's been summoned to the principal's office.

"They left you behind, too, didn't they?" she says.

Derek nods and turns his attention back to Alex, who's making a token effort to tidy up if only because it's an excuse to ignore the other occupants of the room.

"I need to know where the Vault is," he says.

"That's nice," Alex replies. "I need ten hours of sleep every night. I'm obviously not going to get it."

"It's an emergency."

"Yes, I heard. There's a good chance the Imperial Army is coming through tomorrow. Which means I need to be considering my options right now, not wasting time on—"

"We haven't lost yet!"

Time hangs suspended for a moment.

"Say I can find the Vault for you," Alex says conversationally. "How do you see this playing out? You go charge to your boyfriend's rescue? All five of you?"

"Five _werewolves_," Erica points out.

"It doesn't_ matter_!" Alex snaps. "You'll be walking into a meat grinder!"

"Okay, it's a losing battle, I get it," Derek says. "So help us."

Alex eyes him warily. "By giving you the information?"

"Not just that."

"No," Alex says, and walks out of the room.

Derek gestures for the pack to stay put and follows her out to the garden. "Alex!"

"I don't do that anymore!" Alex yells. "The world's changed too much. _I've_ changed too much."

"You could've easily tipped this war one way or the other from the start," Derek says. "Why didn't you?"

Alex whirls on him, jabbing a finger into his chest. "How do you think I've survived this long? I'll give you a hint: it hasn't been by involving myself in every mortal slap-fight I come across."

"Is that all you care about?" Derek says. "Survival?"

Alex steps back and crosses her arms. "Maybe."

"I don't believe that."

**o**

The facility has an official name—'FDSI Research Vault something something something'—but everybody just calls it 'the Vault.' It sits on and mostly under an island in the middle of a small, unused bay along the Washington coast.

The crown jewel of the Vault's collection lives in the lowermost level of the facility. Huang Di's mirror lies flat on the floor—technically, it _is_ the floor—constructed from weirdly-shaped, polished silver plates, interlocking to form a disc over fifty feet across.

The walls and ceiling are white; when Stiles stands at the center of the mirror, all he sees is himself, reflected at hundreds of different angles.

"I figured I'd find you down here."

Stiles startles and looks up. Director Lei stands in the doorway.

"Sorry," Stiles says. "I was just—"

Lei ignores him, walking out onto the mirror's surface, watching the myriad reflections the motion produces.

"Kaitlin Radke spent three years of her life on this thing," she says. "Finding all the pieces, figuring out how to put them together... it was her baby." She stops, hands in her pockets. "I miss her."

Stiles doesn't know what to say, so he says, "I used to have this recurring nightmare where she beat me to death with her cane."

"Kaitlin had that effect on people." Lei pauses, puts a finger up to her earpiece. "Lei here." Another pause. "On my way." To Stiles, she says, "Security office. Now."

Stiles takes one last look around the room and follows Lei out the door.

They pass Harley on the way up; she's standing on a box at the intersection of two corridors, directing the crowds of researchers toward the docks.

When they arrive at the security office, Lydia points wordlessly at a monitor. It's a feed from the cameras watching the mouth of the harbor.

The frame is filled with small, dark shapes: a flotilla of assault craft—each of them meant to hold around a dozen troops—and, flanking them, two armored artillery boats.

What ends up coming out of Stiles' mouth is, "Where the hell did they get those?"

"We'll need to evacuate through the tunnels," Lydia says.

Lei says, "Make the call."

Lydia turns away, speaking rapidly into her earpiece.

Lei crosses the room to a console on the far side, keying in a sequence that Stiles doesn't recognize.

"What are you doing?" he says.

"Priming the charges."

Stiles used to think the old sci-fi rule of every ship, space station, and colony having a self-destruct button was incredibly stupid. Then he took this job.

Lei swipes her thumb across the biometric reader and, into the microphone, says, "January Zero."

A compartment opens, revealing a detonator. Lei takes it and hefts it in her hand.

"Everyone's headed for the tunnels," Lydia says.

Stiles looks up at the monitor. The flotilla is close. Way, way too close.

"I'll oversee the evacuation," Lei says. "Stilinski, grab every agent you can find and get down to the docks. Hold them off as long as you can."

On reflex, Stiles says, "Got it," and heads for the door.

"Stilinski!"

Stiles stops.

Lei puts a hand on his shoulder and turns him around. "We need every second you can give us. Retreat isn't an option. Understand?"

Stiles meets the director's eyes and nods.

Lei holds out a hand to him. "It's been an honor."

Stiles shakes it. "You too, boss."

They part ways at the door, Stiles going left, the director going right. Lydia falls into step beside him.

From down the hall, Lei shouts, "Martin, you're with me."

Stiles and Lydia freeze.

Lydia's face settles into a blank mask, but her eyes are wet. She blinks rapidly, rolls her shoulders back, and holds her hand out for Stiles to shake.

Stiles drags her into a hug.

Lydia pushes up onto her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Stiles says, "Take care of my dad?"

"Yeah."

Lydia finally steps back, wipes her eyes, then turns on her heel and walks away without looking back.

**o**

Heather takes a small team up to man the Vault's gunnery station, and Stiles leads the rest of them—about twenty agents—to the high balcony overlooking the courtyard.

The Vault's front gate sits at the back of a semicircular courtyard. At the foot of the courtyard is a wide set of stairs, and beyond that are the docks.

It's been a while since Stiles last carried a rifle. The gun is an uncomfortable weight at his side, jostling him with every step.

They fan out once they reach the balcony, two stories above the courtyard, and take cover behind the low wall. Three stories above _them_ is the gunnery station and the Vault's one defensive cannon.

Stiles can't reasonably expect to hit anything at this range, but the flotilla is close enough that he can discern individual people moving around on the boats.

And he can see the cannons of both gunboats swivel in his direction.

"Oh, shit," Stiles says.

There's a concussive _THUD_. Something streaks through the air and hits the wall above him. Dust and pieces of rock rain down.

The Vault's cannon fires; Stiles feels it resonate through the floor. The shell hits the gunboat that just fired, and even from this distance Stiles can see it crumple. A satisfied, "Yes!" hisses out from between his teeth.

The second gunboat fires.

The Vault's gunnery station explodes.

The platform beneath it crumbles, breaks away from the rock face. What's left of the gunnery station—concrete, twisted metal, all of it burning—comes crashing down.

The next minute or so is a confused blur.

Eventually, Stiles stumbles to his feet. Dust and smoke fill the air. A huge swath of the balcony is gone, demolished as the wreckage fell.

He can't see anyone else standing. He can't find his gun.

The enemy cannon swivels toward Stiles; he almost feels like it's staring at him.

Something hits the gunboat from below, punching a spray of water into the air.

**o**

Hui watches in stunned silence as their remaining artillery craft capsizes.

Sha leaps to her feet and barks into the radio, "What just happened?"

The only answer is confused chatter.

A huge, dark shape moves under the water.

Sha and Hui are at the rear of the flotilla, and except for their helmsman, they have this boat to themselves.

On one of the boats ahead of them, a mercenary turns on his squadmates, attacking them savagely with his bare hands, tossing them overboard. He wrests control away from the helmsman, and the boat turns sharply to the side, crashing into its neighbor.

It's not an isolated incident, either: two more mercenaries experience the same abrupt loss of sanity. One of them yanks her helmet off, revealing a mane of thick blonde hair.

Something breaches the surface of the water; a long, serpentine tail the size of a tree comes crashing down on a line of boats.

At the front of the flotilla, a boat pulls ahead, out of formation, headed toward the docks at top speed. There are only two people aboard.

"Break formation," Sha snaps at the helmsman. "Get to the docks. _Now_."

**o**

Derek doesn't even bother anchoring the boat, just kills the engine, lets it glide close to the dock, then jumps ship. He lands on all fours on the dock, Jackson beside him, and makes for the wide staircase leading up to the courtyard. He can hold them there, keep anyone from getting through.

He hears Stiles shout, "Holy shit, _Derek?_"

Derek plants himself in the middle of the courtyard and turns to face the docks.

Sha's boat pulls in; she and her second disembark and stride toward the stairs.

Derek lets out a challenging snarl, extending his claws, letting his eyes glow red. Behind him, at his shoulder, comes Jackson's answering growl.

Sha reaches into her jacket, pulls something out of a pocket, and lobs it into the courtyard before ducking into cover.

The grenade hits the ground at Derek's feet with a deceptively quiet _clink_.

Derek tackles Jackson to the ground, shielding him—

The grenade goes off.

**o**

Jackson smells blood. Derek's a dead weight above him.

As gently as he can, he rolls Derek to the side. Derek coughs; blood bubbles up between his lips. His breathing is shallow, but steady.

"Derek." Jackson shakes him. "Derek, come on! Get up!"

Derek's eyelids flutter, and he makes a noise low in his throat, but doesn't answer.

From behind Jackson comes the sound of footsteps on stairs.

Jackson stands, turns around. Sha crests the top of the stairs; there's a glint of recognition in her eyes when she looks at Jackson.

She says, "Run."

Jackson glances over his shoulder at Derek, bleeding on the pavement.

He plants his foot, lets the other slide back.

"No."

There's an amused tilt to Sha's mouth as she shrugs her jacket off and tosses it aside.

She's across the courtyard in a flash, striking at Jackson's face and neck. Jackson just manages to block those, but takes a hit to the chest and staggers.

He regains his footing and loses it again when he leaps back to avoid Sha's low kick.

Sha says, "Last chance."

Jackson growls and stands his ground.

She comes at him again, relentless, fingers clawing, palms striking. Jackson twists out of the way as much as he can, blocks whenever he can't, struggling to remember every trick Da-Xia taught him.

Sweat drips into his eyes. His breathing comes fast and labored.

And then he sees it.

Jackson sneaks in past the hole in Sha's guard and lands a palm strike to her collarbone. Sha stumbles, takes a step back, and Jackson sweeps his leg around in a low kick, forcing her back even further.

He keeps striking, clawing at every inch of ground he can get, pushing Sha back to the stairs.

**o**

Holy shit. Jackson is _winning_.

Stiles pokes his head out of cover, braced against the rail, gaping down at the sight of Jackson Whittemore fighting Colonel Sha _and winning_.

Past that, out in the harbor, half the flotilla is capsized or otherwise wrecked. The other half is in disarray as three black-clad shapes—and one very small green shape—leap between the boats, sowing chaos as they go.

The water churns; one of the boats flies up, held between a pair of massive jaws. The dragon crushes the boat and tips backward, splashing down into the sea again.

Lei's voice crackles over the comm: _"Anyone still up there?"_

"Here, boss!"

"_Stilinski, we're out. Detonating the charges now. Get clear!"_

Stiles runs for cover.

What follows is a noise like the hammer of some ancient god, as the Vault implodes.

**o**

There's a ringing in Jackson's ears, and a weight on his chest.

He pushes it out of the way: a chunk of concrete. There are others like it all around him; from boulders the size of a person all the way down to gravel.

Behind him, the ruin of the Vault's outermost wall still stands. Barely. As Jackson watches, a piece of the wall crumbles and topples inward.

Dust chokes the air. Derek lies a few yards away, groaning and starting to come around.

Slowly, Jackson stands, coughs, and tries to blink the dust out of his eyes.

The sound is a raw, animal cry of rage and pain; there aren't any words in it, or at least not any that Jackson can recognize. Sha surges out of the dust-haze, teeth bared, fingers stretching into actual claws, her features rippling, flashing silver.

Jackson stumbles back, just barely evading the slash at his throat. He isn't so lucky the next time; Sha claws him across the cheek, drives the heel of her hand up into his chin, sweeps his ankle out from under him, sending him crashing down.

Someone screams, "Sha!"

Jackson rolls away, gets up onto one knee; Sha backhands him and knocks him down again.

"Sha, stop! _Please!_"

Sha pounces, kneeling astride his chest, one hand wrapping around Jackson's throat. She draws the knife from her belt, raising it—

_Bang._

Sha jerks forward. A perplexed, dazed expression creeps across her face.

She looks down at the hole in her chest, oozing blue. The knife slips from her fingers and clatters to the ground.

Jackson scrambles out from under her as Sha collapses.

Behind her, Major Hui lowers her gun, hands shaking. She places it gently on the ground, runs across the courtyard, and kneels next to Sha, gathering her up like a child.

"I'm sorry," Hui gasps. "I'm so sorry, you made me promise—"

Sha reaches for Hui's hand, squeezing it. Almost too quiet to hear, she says, "I'm glad it was you."

Her features flicker and fade away, revealing a silvery, mask-like face.

Jackson hears Colonel Sha's heart stop.

Hui lets out a wretched, broken sob and buries her face in her sister's shoulder.

**o**

"Derek!"

Stiles scrambles down a heap of rubble and skids to a stop next to Derek, who's pushing himself up onto hands and knees.

"Oh my god," Stiles breathes; he drops to his knees and wraps Derek up in a hug. "You're fucking _insane_, oh my god, I love you."

"Stop that," Derek grumbles against his neck. "I'm still mad at you."

But he puts his arms around Stiles anyway.

There's a _crunch_ of someone walking over gravel. Stiles looks up; Major Hui stands over them.

Into her radio, she says, "Hui to all points. Stand down. It's over."

She drops to one knee.

"Agent Stilinski," she says, "I offer you my unconditional surrender."

**o**

**One Week Later**

Lydia likes D.C., although she doesn't come here very often. She sits on a park bench, one coffee in hand, another sitting beside her.

Nearby, Hui paces restlessly. "How much longer?"

Lydia checks the time. "The hearing was supposed to end fifteen minutes ago. She should be here any minute."

It's weird, how easy it is to socialize with someone when you've been trying to kill each other for the past month.

Lydia spots Director Lei coming down the path, and waves. Lei waves back and makes a beeline for the bench.

"What's the verdict?" Lydia asks.

"About what we expected," Lei replies. "I'll be handing in my resignation this afternoon." Lydia hands her the other coffee; Lei takes it and adds, "I wrote it last night."

Hui says, "You're resigning?"

"That was always the deal," Lydia says. "We do whatever it takes to win, and Miranda takes the fall for it."

"It's 'Director Lei,' Agent Martin," Lei says, without much bite. "I'm still your boss for a few more hours."

"Of course, Director."

Lei drains half her coffee in one go. "You should've seen their faces. I thought Pollard was going to have an aneurysm. It turns out train robbery is still illegal, by the way."

Lydia says, "What about the department?"

"The FDSI is going to be restructured," Lei says. "I believe the exact words used to describe its current state were, 'massively inefficient political shitstorm.'" She glances at Lydia. "Don't worry, you still have a job. So does everybody else. You might need to get new business cards printed, though."

"Damn," Lydia says. "And I just ordered new ones, too."

Lei gestures to Hui with the coffee cup. "Don't you have a flight to catch?"

"The path we took to get here will still be open for a few more days," Hui says. "I have time."

Lydia says, "I still don't think your idea's going to work. The Silver Empire's been at war for almost five thousand years. They're not going to change just because you tell them to."

"I have to try," Hui says. "This war didn't just kill my sister. It destroyed the person she was. I don't know if there's such a thing as 'evil,' but if there is... that's what it means." She chews her lip. "This can't be allowed to happen again."

Lei switches the coffee to her left hand, and holds her right out to Hui. "Well. Good luck, Major."

Hui takes it and gives it a firm shake. "Thank you, Director." She turns to Lydia. "Agent Martin. If my sister were here, I think she would have congratulated you."

Lydia blinks. "What for?"

"Sha wasn't easily fooled. It takes a unique talent to spy on us for as long as you did. You earned her respect. And mine."

"Thank you."

Hui nods. "Goodbye, both of you."

"Don't take this the wrong way," Lei says, "but I hope we never see each other again."

"Don't take this the wrong way," Hui replies, "but I hope the same thing."

She walks away.

"I also can't believe you're letting her go," Lydia says.

Lei settles onto the bench next to her. "_Somebody_ has to report back to the Empire and let them know this planet's more trouble than it's worth. Otherwise they might keep trying."

"Fine. You're the boss. For now."

"Damn straight."

"For the record," Lydia says, "I want a raise."

"Not my problem anymore. Talk to Heidingsfeld."

Only half joking, Lydia says, "Maybe he'll give me your job."

**o**

It's getting dark, but there's a light on in the living room. From the bottom of the backyard, Jackson's parents are visible through the window: his mom is watching TV, and Dad's parked himself at the desk, going over a sheaf of papers almost an inch thick. Occasionally, he takes the pen out of his mouth and scribbles on a page before putting it back.

"Aren't you going in?"

Da-Xia sits on top of the doghouse—it came with the place, they've never owned a dog—and watches him with calm interest.

"Eventually," Jackson says.

His mom leans over the back of the couch and says something to his dad. It must be a commercial break; Jackson's mom never, _ever_ lets someone interrupt her while she's watching one of her shows.

Jackson says, "What am I supposed to say to them? 'Hi, I'm back, what's for dinner'?"

"I think they've already had dinner, so you probably don't need to worry about that."

"Was that sarcasm?"

Da-Xia gives him a wide-eyed, innocent look, mandibles twitching with amusement.

She says, "You're not really worried about _that_, though. You're wondering how, after everything that's happened, you can go back to this. To a normal life."

Jackson looks back at the window. His dad, engrossed in paperwork, starts to say something. Mom shushes him, eyes riveted to the TV.

"This is your reward," Da-Xia says. "This is what you fought to protect. Go home, Jackson."

Jackson starts to walk up the path to the back door, then hesitates. "What about you? Are you going home?"

"Maybe," Da-Xia says. "Someday. I put all this work into saving the world, though. I'd like to see more of it." She taps a finger thoughtfully against one of her mouth-parts. "I hear Iceland's nice."

The image of Da-Xia in a thick coat and furry hat briefly pops into Jackson's head, and he smiles. "Have fun."

"Oh, I intend to." She stands and hops down from the roof of the doghouse.

"Thank you," Jackson says, before it's too late.

What passes across Da-Xia's face might be called a smile. "It was my pleasure."

And then she's gone.

The back door always squeaks whenever it opens. Jackson hears voices murmuring in the living room, and then his parents appear at the kitchen door.

"Jackson," Dad says. His mouth opens and closes a few times. "How was the road trip?"

"Good," Jackson says, awkwardly. "Glad to be home, though."

Mom, more practically, says, "Have you eaten?"

They stay up until midnight, talking, and when Jackson finally decides to turn in his mom says, "Goodnight, Jackson. We love you."

Jackson says, "I love you, too."

**o**

The sun is rising, and the rain drums lightly on the canopy that hangs over the deck of the Hale house. Derek sits under one of the few spots that doesn't leak, leaning back against a pillar.

He hears the Jeep drive up to the house, rolling to a stop at the bottom of the hill. Just as the door opens, the rain intensifies, coming down in sheets.

"Son of a bitch!" Stiles yelps. There's a rapid series of splashing footsteps.

Stiles ducks under the canopy and pushes wet hair out of his eyes. "This is all your friend's fault, isn't it?"

"I think she got a little carried away," Derek says. He doesn't get up.

Stiles plucks at his soaked t-shirt. "Are you still mad at me?"

"A little."

"Would it help if I apologized again?"

"Not really." Derek's come to the conclusion that when Stiles says 'I'm sorry,' it doesn't actually mean 'I'm sorry.' It means, 'please stop being mad at me.'

To be fair, that's what most people mean when they say 'I'm sorry.'

"I'm going to anyway," Stiles says. "I'm a human disaster. I panicked. I shouldn't have left you behind."

Derek raises an eyebrow. "You really believe that?"

"Fuck, I don't know." Stiles sits next to Derek, pressed against him shoulder-to-shoulder, and Derek can't help but lean into the touch. "We're clearly a couple of stubborn assholes who can't stop saving each other's lives."

The rain abates a little, becoming a soothing tattoo on the roof again.

Derek says, "How's your dad?"

"There was some yelling, a lot of hugging," Stiles says. "He threatened to put a GPS chip in my neck while I'm asleep. We're good."

Derek nods, rests his head against the pillar, closes his eyes.

Stiles clears his throat. "The FDSI is getting, uh, 'restructured.'"

"What does that mean?"

"Too soon to say. But we've got a lot of rebuilding to do." Stiles shifts, sits up a bit straighter. The deck creaks. "I'm getting promoted. Director Heidingsfeld wants me to rebuild our database. Well, technically I'd be coordinating it, but—"

"I get it." Derek opens his eyes. "You won't be around much."

"No, what I'm trying to say is that I'm staying."

Derek's eyebrows shoot up. He stares at Stiles. He can't have heard that right.

"This new job?" Stiles says. "It's static. No running around the country. I can do it from anywhere. So, I figure..." he shrugs. "Why not do it from here?"

"But you hate it here."

"Oh, my god."

Next thing Derek knows, Stiles is in his lap, leaning in until their lips meet.

Stiles is still soaking wet, so having him in his lap isn't exactly pleasant, but he kisses Derek deep and thorough, like he's trying to prove a point, and Derek can feel his heartbeat wherever they're pressed together. So it isn't all bad.

Derek feels safe. Even when someone's trying to kill them both, Stiles makes him feel safe.

Eventually, Stiles breaks the kiss and presses his damp forehead to Derek's.

He says, "I'm staying."

Derek says, "Okay."

**o**

High in the sky over the west coast of America, Alex Tsao the water dragon frolics among the clouds, kicking up storms and showers in her wake like she used to when she was a hatchling. Tomorrow, she'll have to go back to her human job and her human life.

But today, she's a god again.

In the Rocky Mountains, moss has started to overgrow the statue of the fallen guardian. A bird lands between the mighty horns, adds another twig to the nest it's been building there, and flies off again.

At a geologic pace, Stargazer's body is reclaimed by the Earth he died to protect.

And over the sea, to the north, Jingwei the Oath Bird opens her beak and lets the rock she's been carrying drop into the sea below. It hits the water with a satisfying _splash_, and she wheels around, headed back to shore in search of another rock. Or maybe a twig.

Deep beneath the waves, a voice rumbles, "Oh, balls. Not _this_ again."

A strange world continues to turn, much as it always has; for one day, at least, all is well.

Ω


End file.
